LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 


'Vermont  'Beautiful 


\)ermont  beautiful 


BY 


WALLACE   NUTTING 

Author  of  "  Furniture  of  the  Pilgrim  Century," 
"A  Windsor  Handbook,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  THE  AUTHOR  WITH 
THREE  HUNDRED  AND  FOUR  PHOTOGRAPHS 
COVERING  ALL  THE  COUNTIES  IN  VERMONT 


FRAMINGHAM  AND  BOSTON 

OLD    AMERICA    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright   1922 
By  Wallace  Nutting 


All  rights  reserved 


THE    PLIMPTON    PRESS 
NOEWOOD'MASS-U-S'A 


l-  UNrVERP^'^y  Q-^  ^ 

SANTA  J,:, 


:a 


FOREWORD 

THE  state  of  Vermont  through  its  secretary,  Mr.  Bailey,  has  issued 
illustrated  pamphlets,  from  time  to  time  setting  forth  in  excellent 
fashion  the  attractions  of  the  state.  But  it  is  believed  that  a  fuller  treat- 
ment, pictorially,  with  some  description  of  the  more  beautiful  sections 
will  be  desired  by  the  present  and  former  residents  of  Vermont  as  well 
as  by  its  casual  visitors.  With  this  idea  in  mind  the  present  book  is 
offered  to  the  public.  It  is  the  first  of  a  series  projected  on  the  older  or 
more  beautiful  states,  which,  if  time  and  mood  allow,  may  follow. 

For  twenty  years  and  more  the  author  has  joyed  in  Vermont  journey- 
ings,  and  in  that  period  has  passed  five  entire  summers  within  the  bounds 
of  the  state,  besides  touring  scores  of  times  through  its  delightful  valleys. 
He  would,  however,  disclaim  exhaustive  knowledge  of  any  of  its  features, 
and  if  possessing  it  might  withhold  it,  as  information  too  minute  may  be- 
come uninteresting.  He  knows  there  are  far  more  beautiful  spots  in 
Vermont  than  any  one  person  can  ever  see.  Anything  that  God  has  made 
has  new  facets  of  light  still  discoverable  by  the  reverent. 

The  author  foresees  disappointment  to  many  persons  because  certain 
sections  of  the  state  are  not  more  fully  shown.  It  is  obvious  that  one 
might  extend  such  a  work  as  this  to  several  volumes,  but  in  spite  of  some 
regions  not  being  covered,  the  large  number  of  pictures  here  included 
is  far  in  excess  of  anything  hitherto  attempted.  They  are  all  original, 
and  practically  all  are  now  published  in  book  form  for  the  first  time. 
The  majority  of  them  have  not  been  seen  hitherto  in  any  form,  having 
been  made  within  a  year  of  the  date  of  this  publication. 

No  effort  has  been  made  to  supply  a  guide  book,  but  rather  the  object 
is  to  present  a  book  suitable  for  a  gift.  The  thoroughly  good  guide  of 
New  England,  by  Sargent,  has  covered  details  not  treated  here. 

3 


4  FOREWORD 

Furthermore,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  say  that  no  consideration  of  any 
sort  except  matters  of  quaintness,  beauty,  or  history  has  weighed  with  the 
author  in  the  selections  of  pictures  or  the  references  in  the  text.  No 
compensation,  direct  or  indirect,  has  been  received  for  advertisingj  all 
the  author  has  said  being  just  what  he  himself  believes. 

In  regard  to  the  history  of  Vermont,  it  has  been  so  well  done  that  it 
is  unnecessary  in  a  work  of  this  kind  to  do  more  than  glance  at  it.  All 
the  author  pretends  to  do  is  to  offer  as  many  pictures  of  Vermont  as  are 
possible  in  this  compass,  together  with  such  general  and  incidental  obser- 
vations on  roads  and  natural  features  as  may  prove  a  pleasure  or  a  con- 
venience to  a  lover  of  the  beautiful. 

WALLACE   NUTTING 

Framtngham 
Massachusetts 


MY   WIFE 


WHOSE  COMPANY  ON  VERMONT 
ROADS  AND  WHOSE  INSPIRATION 
AND  GOOD  TASTE  HAVE  MADE  THIS 
AND   OTHER   WORK   OF   MINE    POSSIBLE 


"Vermont  beautiful 


I.    THE   ROADS   OF   VERMONT 

T  TERMONT  is  unique  in  the  quality  of  its  roads.  More  solid  sense 
^  has  been  directed  to  their  construction  than  we  have  observed  else- 
where. It  is  clearly  impossible  for  a  state  uniquely  rural  to  construct,  or 
even  to  plan,  a  general  system  of  cement  roads.  The  usual  thing,  how- 
ever, would  have  been  the  building  of  tarred  or  composite  roads,  such  as 
break  up  quickly  and  are  proving  so  unsatisfactory  in  other  states.  We  owe 
a  very  high  tribute  to  Mr.  Stoddard  B.  Bates,  of  Orleans  County,  for  his 
wisdom  in  using  the  materials  which  he  found  at  hand. 

Everywhere  in  Vermont,  except  in  some  parts  of  the  Champlain  basin, 
there  is  abundant  gravel.  This  Mr.  Bates  has  used.  It  would  be  a  reve- 
lation to  some  road  builders  to  test  these  gravel  roads,  which  are  not  only 
the  best  possible  at  their  cost,  but  strange  to  say  are  the  fastest  roads,  ex- 
cepting only  cement.  This  has  been  proved  by  the  writer,  for  he  once 
drove  from  St.  Johnsbury  to  Newport,  Eden,  Hyde  Park,  and  thence  to 
St.  Johnsbury  at  a  rate  of  speed  exceeding  the  possibilities  elsewhere  in 
New  England. 

To  make  these  roads  so  excellent,  they  must  be  cunningly  compounded 
of  just  enough  fine  matter  to  permit  of  packing  the  gravel  firmly.  Here 
and  there  local  attempts  at  gravel  roads  have  been  failures  owing  to  the 
looseness  of  the  gravel  used.  This  makes  a  road  dangerous  to  pass  over, 
except  very  slowly.     The  beds  of  the  streams  which  abound  through  nine 

7 


8  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

parts  of  the  state  of  Vermont  afford  admirably  screened  gravel.  There  are 
still  seme  districts  in  the  northwest  of  the  state  where  the  roads  consist 
of  pure  clay  admirable  for  smoothness  when  scraped,  but  when  wet  or 
rough  after  drying  capable  of  testing  the  character  of  a  saint.  All  good 
men  are  advised  to  avoid  journeys  over  such  roads,  because  the  duffer  at 
golf  is  a  kind,  sweet  gentleman  to  a  traveller  on  clay  when  it  has  fallen 
from  grace. 

In  most  of  our  states  it  is  dangerous  to  leave  main  roads.  In  Vermont, 
however,  the  roads  are  so  good  one  may  often  follow  heavy  grades  over 
the  highest  hills,  over  narrow  winding  passes,  without  a  jolt  or  a  jar.  In 
fact,  a  notable  feature  of  Vermont  is  the  generally  high  character  of  the 
minor  cross  roads  and  hill  roads.  It  is  these  that  reveal  many  hidden 
beauties  and  characteristic  mountain  farms,  snug,  trim,  and  appealing. 
There  is  more  human  interest  in  such  roads  than  in  the  wide  trunk  lines 
between  great  cities.  Along  them  one  finds  fair  homesteads,  and  good 
ones,  too,  at  the  summits  of  many  of  the  mountains  or  lying  on  the  soft 
slopes  at  an  elevation  of  two  thousand  feet  and  more,  for  the  very  crests 
of  the  loftier  hills  are  often  the  finest  soil  imaginable. 

Still  following  good  roads  it  is  possible  to  penetrate  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  Green  Mountains,  which  are  generally  true  to  their  name  to  their 
very  summits.  There  is  a  softness  and  intimacy  about  them  which  is  better 
than  grandeur  and  more  comfortable  than  appalling.  They  are  good  to 
live  with,  understandable  and  kindly,  rather  than  mysterious  and  terrify- 
ing. Their  glens  are  ideal  homes  for  common  mortals  who  are  not  too 
ambitious,  but  who  love  liberty  and  the  sod. 

As  one  goes  on  through  the  state  a  great  wealth  of  beauty  is  revealed. 
The  main  road  passing  north  and  south  through  Vermont  on  its  western 
side,  approaching  by  way  of  branches  from  Williamstown  or  Troy,  pro- 
ceeds from  Bennington  through  to  the  Canada  line.  Its  more  attractive 
portions  are  in  the  southern  half.  The  eastern  trunk  line  entering  from 
Greenfield  and  passing  out  into  Sherbrook,  in  Canada,  is  more  interesting 
in  its  northern  half.     The  cross  road  from  Bennington  to  Brattleboro  is 


THE    RIVERS    AND    BROOKS  9 

very  pleasing  in  apple  blossom  time.  In  places  it  is  somewhat  narrow. 
The  diagonal  road  from  Bellows  Falls  to  Rutland  is  beautiful  all  through 
the  season  of  travel. 

From  White  River  one  crosses  to  Rutland  via  Woodstock  and  finds 
beauty  all  the  way.  The  passage  from  Wells  River  through  Montpelier 
to  Burlington  is  fine.  The  journey  from  St.  Johnsbury  to  Burlington  also 
includes  much  that  is  good,  especially  in  the  eastern  section.  The  most 
northern  cross  road  from  Newport  to  Swanton  is  perhaps  the  poorest  road 
and  the  least  interesting.  It  suffers  the  further  handicap  of  requiring  calls 
at  custom  houses  as  it  touches  Canada.  It  will  probably  be  much  better  in 
a  few  years.    The  parts  of  the  road  in  Vermont  are  much  the  best. 

The  series  of  four  roads  from  the  White  River-Rutland  route  running 
roughly  parallel  through  the  mountain  valleys  northerly  to  the  Montpelier- 
Waterbury  route,  are  fascinating  tours,  often  neglected,  but  very  impor- 
tant for  the  lover  of  nature's  quiet  moods.  Various  minor  routes  will  be 
mentioned  in  the  course  of  this  book,  but  those  already  sketched  are  all 
necessary  to  any  general  review  of  the  beauty  spots  of  the  state. 

A  final  rare  delight  of  Vermont  travel  is  the  freedom  from  city  sights 
and  noises.  One  may  choose  long  routes  and  never  encounter  any  human 
habitation  larger  than  a  rural  village. 


II.    THE   RIVERS   AND   BROOKS 

THE  rivers  and  minor  streams  of  Vermont  are  nearly  always  found  by 
the  roadside.  They  are,  therefore,  a  far  more  important  feature 
of  beauty  than  the  lakes.  The  unfolding  mystery  so  fascinating  in  follow- 
ing a  stream  is  one  of  the  chief  charms  of  travel.  A  lake  can  often  be  seen 
at  one  point,  and  is  often  bordered  by  a  scrub  growth.  The  trees  about 
streams  are  of  a  nobler  character  than  are  found  on  lake  margins. 

It  is  an  odd  fact  that  the  use  of  the  word  "  brook  "  in  America  is  prac- 
tically confined  to  New  England.    It  is  a  lovable  word,  full  of  music  and 


10  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

memory.    The  brooks  tell  soothing  stories,  and  are  better  to  sit  beside  than 
an  open  fire. 

The  association  of  our  branch  of  the  human  race  with  brooks  is  of 
hoary  and  unknown  antiquity.  Before  the  day  of  wells  our  fathers  lived 
by  the  brookside.  There,  at  five  years  of  age,  the  boy  built  his  dam  with 
pebbles  and  sod  and  set  up  his  water  wheel.  His  sister  waded  by  his  side 
and  felt  the  smooth  stones  with  her  toes.  The  minnows  darted  between 
her  feet  J  the  great  elm  overhung,  and  its  water-loving  roots  formed  a  seat, 
when,  tired  of  play,  the  children  sat  to  view  their  first  feat  of  engineering. 
What  a  brook  does  not  know  of  botany  and  geology  in  its  region  is  not  a 
big  chapter.  Who  has  not  been  lost  to  the  passage  of  time  and  the  plague 
of  history  in  following  the  devious  course  of  the  clear  flowing  water?  Here 
large,  there  small,  now  hurrying,  now  reposing  j  at  one  time  hidden  among 
aflfectionate  birches,  at  another  time  basking  in  the  broad,  hot  lights  of  the 
garish  meadow,  the  brook  has  more  moods  and  more  mystery  than  a  woman. 

Brooks  in  Vermont  are  as  many  as  there  are  farms,  and  every  one  has 
a  marked  character  of  its  own,  but  never  a  bad  one  in  the  whole  list.  For 
pictures,  their  dimpled  elbows  and  soft  reflection  call  us.  They  give  life 
and  take  toll  in  an  agreeable  spirit. 

More  worth-while  things  can  be  done  with  a  brook  than  with  anything 
else.  It  is  easily  ledj  it  may  be  coaxed  to  expand  into  pools  by  the  farm- 
house, or  made  to  drive  the  old  saw  mill,  or  to  water  the  garden.  A  bridge 
over  a  brook  is  one  of  the  first  pieces  of  architecture,  and  the  prettiest.  A 
man  may  own  much,  but  unless  he  owns  a  brook  he  is  poor. 

The  Vermont  brook  is  a  varying  personality,  and  has  its  mad  as  well 
as  its  lucid  intervals.  Indeed,  one  of  the  beautiful  streams  of  Vermont  is 
called  Mad  River.  It  flows  northerly,  entering  the  Winooski  in 
Middlesex. 

The  Vermont  farmer  knew  how  to  use  the  brook  in  all  its  moods. 
In  March,  when  the  farm  work  did  not  press,  he  found  even  a  normally 
small  brook  swollen  to  such  proportions  as  to  be  ample  for  his  sawing  and 
grinding.     So  he  harnessed  it  for  this  purpose,  and  a  mill  arose  to  do  his 


THE    RIVERS    AND    BROOKS  13 

bidding.  Vermont  must  contain  thousands  of  old  abandoned  mills  which 
give  evidence  of  how  a  stream  was  used.  They  make  a  characteristic  fea- 
ture of  the  state,  and  are  one  more  mark  of  the  independence  of  the  small 
community  in  old  New  England.  Instead  of  drawing  logs  a  long  way 
to  a  large  central  mill,  the  small  farmer  wrought  at  home.  He  cut  his 
own  timber,  sawed  it  at  his  little  mill,  and  built  his  own  barn,  which  was 
a  big  one. 

Lanier  makes  use  of  the  brook  as  having  a  purpose,  and  we  are  just 
awakening  to  the  endless  uses  of  water.  Vast  reservoirs  are  now  estab- 
lished in  and  about  Wilmington  whose  brooks  are  pictured  on  pages  24 
and  167.  But  besides  the  storage  in  reservoirs,  when  water  is  put  to 
the  uses  it  should  be,  then  Vermont  and  the  states  of  kindred  contour 
will  come  into  their  own.  More  than  the  mines  of  our  country  the  brooks 
will  be  the  continuous  sources  of  the  nation's  wealth.  Every  shower  will 
be  a  shower  of  gold.  We  who  live  where  water  is  abundant  forget  that 
a  great  part  of  the  human  race  never  have  enough  water.  And  water 
for  us,  too,  will  prove  the  salvation  of  the  East.  Nearly  all  the  water 
power  is  wasted.  The  engineers'  estimates  are  all  too  low.  When  every 
hill  brook  has  a  series  of  little  dams  whose  power  is  fed  below  to  one 
wire,  the  hill  states  will  rise  in  importance  and  become  the  centers  of 
empire.  The  brook,  then,  may  become  the  most  useful,  as  it  is  now  the 
most  beautiful,  feature  of  our  country. 

The  charming  turns  and  cascades  along  Mad  River  appear  on  pages 
64.  and  216.  The  Winooski  at  Middlesex,  pages  80  and  159,  has  a 
gorge  as  appealing  in  color  and  outline  as  others  that  we  journey  across 
continents  to  behold.  Perhaps  for  charm  of  stream  and  mountain  it 
would  be  hard  to  surpass  the  route  from  Montpelier  to  Essex,  where 
Camel's  Hump,  as  on  page  168,  shows  itself  from  many  angles.  The 
brooks  that  feed  the  Winooski  are  shown  on  pages  47,  52  and  83.  The 
Winooski  reveals  its  moods  on  pages  56,  63,  207,  and  at  the  bottom  and 
middle  of  page  48,  and  on  page  168  at  the  top. 

The  White  River  from  its  mouth  upward  exhibits  numberless  curves 


14  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

of  beauty,  dreamy  reflections,  shadowing  elms  and  nestling  villages. 
The  Village  Spires,  page  135,  is  an  instance,  other  views  appearing  on 
pages  36,  39,  40. 

The  upper  Connecticut  exhibits  better  known  phases  of  beauty  than 
the  smaller  streams.  "  Fording  the  Upper  Connecticut,"  page  143,  shows 
picturesque  cattle,  mottled  in  color,  a  double  team,  with  the  two-wheeled 
hayrack  capable  of  dodging  about  among  the  stones  —  the  ideal  con- 
trivance for  rough  going.  The  Connecticut  has  many  fair  reaches  at 
Fairlee,  Bradford,  and  the  villages  farther  north.  They  appear  on 
pages  191,  196,  199,  200,  212,  215.  Near  Brattleboro,  with  its  bald, 
black  mountains,  and  at  Bellows  Falls,  recent  extensive  power  develop- 
ments have  changed  the  aspects  of  the  valleys  and  added  a  series  of  new 
reflections  from  the  hills.     West  River  pictures  are  on  pages  87  and  112. 

The  Passumpsic  is  full  of  charm.  From  its  mouth  to  its  source  there 
is  hardly  a  reach  or  a  bow  that  does  not  challenge  our  delighted  atten- 
tion.    Some  of  these  arresting  bits  appear  on  pages  71,   80,   120,   131. 

The  Lamoille  bears  in  its  name  a  reminder  that  northern  and  western 
Vermont  got  names,  as  it  is  now  getting  people,  from  French  Canada. 
A  fine  reach  of  the  Lamoille,  on  page  71,  shows  a  spaciousness  and  dig- 
nity worthy  of  a  great  river. 

Otter  Creek,  on  the  west  of  the  mountains,  being  on  a  general  thorough- 
fare, is  better  known  to  the  tourist  than  other  streams  of  Vermont.  In 
various  angles  it  successively  reflects  in  its  course  nearly  the  entire  range 
of  the  Green  Mountains,  as  on  page  23  and  the  bottom  of  page  88. 
But  its  course  is  quieter  than  that  of  any  other  Vermont  river. 

The  Battenkill  flows  into  the  Hudson,  and  in  its  name  bears  the 
stamp  of  old  Dutch  New  York.  It  is  a  stream  eminent  in  beautiful 
stretches,  some  of  the  finest  of  which  are  pictured  on  pages  11,  15, 
and    16. 

It  must  always  be  the  brook,  however,  to  which  we  return  in  memory, 
because  it  is  comprehensible  and  endearing  by  its  very  modesty.  Un- 
known to  the  wide  world,  often  even  unnamed,  it  is  "  our  brook  "  to 


'-fw'i^~--^s^- 


THE    RIVERS    AND    BROOKS  17 

the  lover  who  dwells  on  its  grassy  banks;  knows  its  variable  voice,  now 
faint,  now  swelling  to  a  roar;  sees  the  flash  of  its  diamond  and  ruby 
waters  playing  among  the  multi-colored  stones;  spans  it  or  fords  it; 
harnesses  it  and  guides  it  until  it  becomes  the  symbol  of  his  farm  and 
the  inspirer  of  whatever  latent  poetry  lies  in  him.  Such  examples  are 
on  pages  23,  24,  28,  31  and  the  top  of  page  SS- 

In  this  connection  the  farm  bridge  must  be  noticed  as  a  feature  almost 
as  common  as  the  farm  barn.  The  meadow  often  lies  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  stream  from  the  road  where  the  farmhouse  is.  Many  a 
farm  has  a  modern  bridge  of  some  pretensions,  or  an  old  covered  struc- 
ture painted  red.  In  cases  where  the  settler  saw  his  advantage  in  placing 
his  dwelling  beyond  his  bridge,  he  secured  an  approach  which  for  charm 
may  rival  the  subtly  contrived  approach  of  a  landscape  architect. 

Before  recent  expensive  road  work  was  undertaken  the  Vermonter 
had  often  to  fight  his  river  or  brook.  It  required  no  small  part  of  his 
labor  and  ingenuity  to  bridge  or  curb  permanently  the  fickle  waters. 

The  charm  of  Vermont  touring  is  much  enhanced  by  the  road  ramps 
leading  to  or  from  these  bridges. 

The  "  old  red  bridge  "  has  become  a  proverbial  phrase.  So  far  have 
most  of  us  lived  away  from  it,  that  the  importance  of  its  roof  to  prevent 
decay  and  the  quaintness  of  its  outlines,  flanked  at  its  ends  by  fine  patri- 
archal elms,  have  passed  from  our  memory.  We  are  glad  to  recall 
and  preserve  these  features  on  pages  31,  51,  and  64. 

Aside  from  the  air,  then,  the  quality  of  which  in  Vermont  cannot 
be  surpassed,  a  drop  of  water  from  a  Vermont  brook  means  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  aesthetics  of  the  visitor  to  the  state  or  the  economics 
of  the  resident.  The  latter,  tracing  the  brook  to  its  source,  conducts 
the  water  to  his  homestead,  where  the  flowing  aqueduct  becomes  so 
good  and  important  a  part  of  his  homestead  that  he  feels  a  degree  of 
mild  contempt  for  the  farm  that  lacks  it.  From  springs  above  his 
valley  he  feeds  house  and  barn  with  a  perennial  cool  stream.  In  the 
kitchen  is  often  a  great  open  tank  whence  the  water  is  dipped  up  in  any 


1 8  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

quantity.  The  escape  thus  enjoyed  from  the  mechanism  of  windmills 
or  the  waste  of  eifort  in  hand  pumping  carries  into  the  feeling  of  the 
homesteader  a  sense  of  reserve  power.  Like  the  heart  beat  in  the  human 
body,  the  spring  supplies  the  life  of  the  farm,  and  the  domestic  animals 
are  watered  beneath  their  own  roof. 

The  claim  to  the  crown  of  beauty  has  been  made  for  the  Queechee 
River,  and  certainly  it  has  much  to  commend  it.  Gathering  head  on 
the  divide  between  Woodstock  and  Rutland,  it  follows  in  its  more 
rapid  course  a  fine  mountain  road  lined  with  yellow  birches  whose  coppery 
sheen  decorates  the  narrow  margin  between  river  and  road.  In  the 
quieter  meadows  of  Bridgewater  and  Woodstock  the  stream  bends  its 
glinting  beauty,  and  at  its  notable  Gulf  becomes  a  somewhat  impressive 
vision,  as  seen  from  the  railway  and  the  wooded  sides  of  the  gorge. 
Some  of  these  aspects  appear  on  pages  31,  163  and  195. 

It  is  these  quieter  waters,  with  their  long  lights  and  reposeful  aspects, 
that  particularly  lay  claim  to  feminine  affection.  However  much  the 
masculine  mind  may  turn  toward  roaring  torrents  suggesting  strength 
and  the  natural  conflict,  it  is  mirrors  that  appeal  to  the  mind  of  a  woman. 
To  such  tastes  the  northwestern  portion  of  the  state  is  most  strongly 
attractive.  Here  the  Missisquoi  lingers  in  its  plains  almost  too  leis- 
urely. Otter  Creek,  closing  its  course  shortly  after  it  leaves  Vergennes 
in  the  low-lying  waters  of  Champlain,  is  a  mountain  mirror  through  nearly 
all  its  extent. 

A  riverside  drive,  no  less  delightful,  because  surprising  in  its  fair 
revelations,  is  that  which,  beginning  out  of  the  state,  in  North  Adams, 
skirts  a  branch  of  the  Hoosic  River  into  Stamford.  The  contour  of  the 
fine  southern  foothills  of  the  Green  Mountains  in  that  town  is  remark- 
ably graceful,  and  when  one  sees  them,  as  we  did,  with  fairy-like  mists 
playing  about  them,  they  become  a  revelation  of  cool  purity.  Going 
on  to  Heartwellville  and  Readsboro  we  come  on  the  west  branch  of  the 
Deerfield  River.  Some  of  the  slack  waters  of  this  branch,  more  prop- 
erly confined  reserves,  nestle  like  deep-set  gems,  and  attract  great  ad- 


THE    RIVERS    AND    BROOKS  21 

miration.  At  times,  again,  the  stream  breaks  for  long  reaches  into 
white  water.  Crossing  over  then  to  Whitingham,  where  immense 
reservoirs  are  to  be  created,  one  goes  on  to  Jacksonville  and  follows 
down  the  North  River  to  Coleraine  and  Shelburne  Falls.  There,  on 
the  Buckland  side,  is  a  prodigious  power  development.  The  entire 
route,  though  beginning  and  ending  outside  our  chosen  state,  reveals 
its  chief  beauties  within  the  bounds  of  Vermont.  The  journey  south 
from  Jacksonville  reveals  here  a  deep  gorge,  with  vast  boulders  fight- 
ing the  current  J  there,  more  open  cascades,  almost  continuous  for  miles. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  immediately  after  such  a  drive  one  gives 
way  to  raptures  and  can  think  of  little  else  than  the  beauty  he  has  seen. 
This  is  especially  true  if  the  journey  is  made  in  a  time  of  high  water. 
The  fantastic  shapes  of  the  breaking  current,  the  quaint  forms  of  the 
rocks,  the  color  and  extent  of  the  lichen-covered  cliffs,  the  sturdy  but 
graceful  overhanging  birches  and  maples,  cause  one's  eyes  to  wander 
delightedly  from  one  charm  to  another,  each  seeking  to  excel.  The 
general  effect  is  a  richness  of  appeal  that  gives  the  mind  a  sense  of 
possessing  all  good  things  in  a  moment.  To  us,  this  region,  not 
too  vast,  not  over  advertised,  has  attractions  exceeding  the  Mohawk 
trail.  There  is  not  such  a  crush  of  vehicles.  One  feels  withdrawn  to 
commune  with  gentler  and  nearer  beauty,  in  quiet  and  sweetness. 

The  southern  portion  of  Vermont  is  notable  for  its  many  fine  rapid 
streams.  The  fall  is  so  great,  taken  in  the  course  of  a  mile  or  two,  that 
these  streams  are  a  challenge  to  this  generation,  for  their  "  white  coal " 
possibilities.  The  outcome  of  enterprises  resulting  in  many  reservoirs 
adds  very  substantially  to  the  number  of  lakes  in  the  state,  as  at  Ray- 
ponda,  for  instance.  Incidently  the  new  water  margins  running  into 
long  valleys  and  about  the  buttresses  of  the  hills  have  appreciably  en- 
hanced the  beauty  of  the  region,  adding  charm  where  in  some  cases  there 
was  only  a  humdrum  denuded  landscape.  It  is  the  policy  of  the  pro- 
jectors of  these  reserve  water  supplies  to  conserve  and  extend  the 
forests  above  them,  so  that  as  years  go  on  the  route  lately  described, 


22  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

and  others  adjacent,  will  become  increasingly  beautiful.  It  is  yet  a 
district  of  meager  population,  where  wonderful  sites  for  mountain  homes 
are  wholly  unoccupied.  The  Stamford  scenes  are  on  pages  87  and  lOOj 
the  river  moods  of  spring  and  autumn  speak  to  us  on  page  187,  the  top  of 
page  188,  page  191  at  the  top,  page  192  at  the  bottom  and  page  204. 

Such  routes,  over  roads  not  of  the  first  class,  yet  constructed  to  provide 
safety  and  a  degree  of  comfort,  are  the  salient  features  that  appeal  in 
Vermont.  The  journey  up  West  River  from  Brattleboro  to  London- 
derry affords  somewhat  similar  pleasure  to  the  route  just  described.  To 
find  that  there  are  good  roads,  rich  in  various  beauties,  and  yet  rather 
free  from  tourists  is  a  pleasing  revelation. 

As  one  journeys  on,  various  things  besides  curve  of  brook,  sweep  of 
river,  and  grace  of  hills  greet  the  eye.  Substantial  houses,  memorials  of 
the  solid  character  of  the  Scotch  settlers  who  built  them,  stand  in  the 
upper  reaches  of  the  route.  The  colors  in  the  landscape,  too,  are  notice- 
able. When  the  season  on  the  lowlands  has  already  taken  on  a  same- 
ness of  deep,  almost  black  green,  the  higher  ridges,  as  at  Peru,  show 
through  the  summer  that  pleasing  gradation  of  green  in  their  foliage 
which  we  notice  on  lowlands  only  in  earlier  leafage. 

The  apple  blossoms  on  these  highlands  trail  their  fragrance  into  June, 
being  at  least  three  weeks  later  than  in  lower  New  England  and  a  month 
behind  the  middle  Atlantic  states.  If  one  follows  the  season,  as  this  year 
we  did,  one  extends  to  the  perfect  seven  the  number  of  weeks  that  the 
incomparable  apple  blossom  may  be  enjoyed.  The  little  rivers  of  Ver- 
mont are  so  often  confined  between  shouldering  hills  that  the  orchards 
are  huddled  close  to  the  water's  edge,  and  their  location  thus  increases 
the  strength  of  their  appeal.  Where,  as  so  often  happens,  the  wild  apple 
springs  up,  selecting  a  strategically  fine  setting  for  itself,  the  tired  mind 
loses  itself  in  days  of  admiration  and  feels  the  freshness  of  youth  return 
by  mere  repetition  of  invitation  to  be  a  child  of  spring  again. 

So  the  rain  and  its  children,  the  brook  and  the  river,  have  shaped  the 
face  of  the  state,  the  direction  of  its  valleys,  and  its  social  relations.     They 


THE    LAKES    OF    VERMONT  25 

have  carved  its  curves  of  beauty  and  built  its  stores  of  power.  The  green 
hills  give  out  forever  their  crystal  springs  j  and  water,  whether  in  mist 
or  cascade  or  at  rest,  is  the  origin  of  wealth  and  charm  to  the  bounteously 
endowed  mother  of  men,  dear  old  Vermont. 


III.     LAKES    OF   VERMONT 

THE  LAKE,  which  is  only  a  burgeoning  brook,  needs  our  glances  of 
admiration  as  we  leave  the  subject  of  streams. 
Fairer  than  all  the  daughters  of  pride  among  the  lakes  of  Vermont 
lies  Willoughby,  the  queen  of  them  all.  Flanked  by  twin  cleft  cliffs 
rising  to  mountain  dignity,  surrounded  by  birches,  "  divinely  tall  and 
most  divinely  fair,"  colored  iwith  a  richness  no  gem  can  rival,  V/illoughby 
became  known  for  its  drawing  power  even  before  the  White  Mountains. 
A  great  many  years  ago  a  hotel  of  pretensions  stood  near  it,  and  the 
sophisticated  city  dweller  came  to  wonder  and  worship  at  the  pure,  mys- 
terious waters  of  the  lake.  But  the  trend  of  travel  shifted,  and  Wil- 
loughby was  forgotten  or  slighted  by  all  except  those  few  who  felt  more 
deeply  and  understandingly  her  stately  beauty.  The  completion  of  a 
good  highway  past  her  shores  is  at  length  re-awakening  us  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  a  lake  more  neglected  doubtless  than  any  other  scenic  spot  in  New 
England.  If  merit  alone  be  considered,  Willoughby  should  be  haunted 
by  thousands,  where  one  now  gazes  on  her  as  she  casts  aside  her  morning 
drapery  of  haze  or  clothes  herself  in  the  colors  of  sunset.  Charming 
from  every  aspect,  each  season  and  each  day  she  has  something  new  to 
show  her  true  admirer.  The  climb  of  Mt.  Pisgah,  not  too  severe  for 
women  who  have  the  strength  to  vote,  is  an  experience  not  to  be  missed. 
The  writer  made  it  some  time  ago  with  a  gentleman  over  seventy  years 
of  age,  who  now,  after  growing  younger  annually,  still  lights  his  days 
by  the  memory  of  that  outing.  The  author  felt  no  such  charm  in  the 
ascent  of  Pike's  Peak. 


26  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

Lake  Wllloughby,  pages  84  and  132,  and  its  roads,  pages  60,  79,  and 
296,  while  bounded  by  many  small  cottages,  is  still  unspoiled  by  the 
garish  features  so  objectionably  present  at  many  resorts.  To  the  quiet 
and  the  appreciative  this  lake  offers  pleasures  secret  and  serene. 

To  the  north,  Memphremagog  spreads  broadly  her  fine  waters,  and 
reaches  well  into  Canada.  From  her  bluffs,  pages  95,  103,  and  119,  ap- 
pear broad  expanses  to  be  explored  from  Newport.  Doubtless  the  fisher- 
man and  the  sailor  find  all  they  ask  —  or  should  ask  —  on  her  broad 
bosom.  The  mountains  gird  her  northwestern  shores.  The  shimmer- 
ing reflections  dance  noiselessly,  and  the  colored  shadows  play  over  moun- 
tain and  water  until  the  beholder  loses  his  heart  to  their  witchery  and 
elusive  evanescence.  Fine  outlooks  are  had  as  one  approaches  Newport 
from  the  north.  Excepting  Champlain  this  is  the  most  extensive  of 
Vermont  lakes. 

Bomoseen  has  long  been  popular.  We  have  given  glimpses  of  this 
lake  from  the  east,  pages  91  and  96. 

A  little  way  from  Brandon,  a  pleasing  village  and  a  desirable  head- 
quarters, is  Lake  Dunmore.  Birches,  as  on  pages  96  and  108  surround 
it  and  grace  the  trails  that  lead  to  it;  while  a  drive,  more  or  less  near  its 
shores,  follows  its  outline.  In  its  name  the  lake  shows  the  influence  of 
Scotch  settlers,  who,  by  using  a  nomenclature  borrowed  from  their  own 
heather-grown  hills,  have  given  to  us  romantic  suggestions  of  much  im- 
aginative appeal.  Other  pictures  of  the  lake  and  the  fine  birch  roads 
that  lead  to  it,  are  at  the  bottom  of  page  40  and  on  page  296. 

The  great  extent  and  historic  and  present  day  importance  of  Cham- 
plain  dominates  too  much,  perhaps,  the  thought  of  the  tourist.  A  sail 
over  its  waters,  or  a  view  from  its  eastern  shore,  gives  a  noble  and  endless 
panorama  of  the  Adirondacks,  which  are  really  a  more  important  feature 
of  Western  Vermont  scenery  than  are  her  own  Green  Mountains.  The 
cliflFs  of  Champlain,  page  76,  are  boldj  and  Rock  Creek  Park,  also  on 
page  76,  borders  the  shore  of  the  lake  at  Burlington. 

It  is  not  feasible  to  narrate  what  rambles  about  the  many  tiny  lakes  of 


VILLAGES    OF    VERMONT  29 

Vermont  the  author  has  enjoyed.  That  about  Joe's  Pond,  near  Dan- 
ville, is  only  one  of  many.  This  little  lake,  resting  for  the  most  part  in 
quiet  sylvan  hollows,  hidden  from  the  world,  pure,  deep,  and  alluring, 
furnishes  many  delights. 


IV.     VILLAGES   OF   VERMONT 

OF  all  places  the  village  is  the  one  where  human  nature  is  best  studied 
and  most  thoroughly  enjoyed.  In  a  Vermont  village  there  is  just 
the  right  number  of  people  for  each  to  know  the  other.  Here  the  re- 
straining influence  of  the  morally  sane  is  felt  more  powerfully  than  in  any 
other  human  community.  Very  shame,  arising  from  living,  as  on  a  stage, 
in  the  sight  of  all  one's  fellows,  holds  the  naturally  unlovely  mortal  to  an 
outward  conformity  to  common  sense  ideals.  The  village  may  have  its 
miser,  but  he  is  not  wholly  abandoned  to  his  idol.  A  common  need, 
and  the  knowledge  that  all  his  neighbors  know  he  is  holding  out  against 
offering  his  help,  is  the  most  moving  social  and  moral  force  to  mellow 
his  crusty  soul.  In  the  village,  virtues  and  graces  shine  with  quiet  splen- 
dor. Here  the  saint,  the  nurse,  unpaid  but  loved,  the  good  and  well- 
to-do  citizen,  all  live  in  the  presence  of  their  brothers,  like  Job  of  old. 

In  the  village  there  is  about  the  proper  intellectual  stimulus  to  be 
enjoyable  and  good  for  the  average  mind.  The  common  man  there 
feels  the  simpler  humor  of  life  and  responds  to  its  gentle  stimulus. 
Neighbor  touches  up  neighbor  with  sallies  of  pleasant  wit,  not  too  biting, 
not  too  brilliant.  In  fact  the  village  is  a  world  in  a  nutshell,  with  its 
play  of  passion. 

The  quiet  sensible  villager  is  under  no  delusions  such  as  the  unsophisti- 
cated city  cartoonist  puts  upon  him.  In  his  sufficient  homestead  he  esti- 
mates properly  his  own  abilities  and  his  relation  to  the  broad  aspects  of 
life.  He  knows  himself  for  what  he  is  —  no  peasant,  no  groundling, 
but  an  independent  thinker,  who,  while  he  does  not  hope  to  set  the  river 


30  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

afire,  still  knows  how  to  keep  it  in  bounds,  to  use  it  and  enjoy  it.  He 
is  the  salt  of  human  society,  the  natural  progressive  conservative  who 
holds  the  world  to  its  steady  course  and  prevents  a  too  dangerous  swing 
of  the  pendulum. 

Not  a  few  villagers  have  remained  villagers  because  of  circumstances. 
Often,  left  in  charge  of  home  acres  or  local  interests,  they  have  philo- 
sophically accepted  the  duties  laid  upon  them,  sometimes  paying  off  from 
the  family  property  the  portions  of  the  brothers  and  sisters  and  living 
themselves  on  the  old  estates.  This  task  of  making  a  meager  inheritance 
yield  dowries  and  stipends  calls  for  uncommon  ability,  such  as  brainy  city 
lawyers  often  deny  to  the  villager  and  attempt  in  vain  to  copy. 

That  the  villager  or  the  farmer  belongs  to  a  mediocre  mentality  whose 
dullness  may  be  the  proper  butt  of  urban  minds,  is  a  great  mistake.  By 
the  very  meagerness  of  the  physical  resources  at  his  hand,  the  villager 
is  called  on  to  execute  tasks  that  might  well  appall  the  brilliant  and  the 
learned,  and  prove  too  much  for  a  man  of  affairs  in  world  marts.  As  a 
tree  growing  in  the  open  strikes  root  more  broadly  and  deeply,  and  sends 
out  stout  and  decorative  branches,  while  its  forest  brother  has  merely  a 
tuft  at  the  top  and  if  exposed  falls  in  the  first  storm,  so  the  village  dweller 
usually  develops  more  nearly  to  a  rounded  man  than  his  city  brother, 
and  sees  life  in  larger  proportions.  As  we  look  at  America's  vastest 
metropolis,  developed  to  over-swollen  congestion,  we  are  reminded  of 
the  extremely  narrow  provincialism  that  commonly  marks  its  untravelled 
residents.  Life  can  be  smaller  and  narrower  in  a  great  city  than  any- 
where else  on  earth.  Such  centers  must  be  fed  by  the  stronger  men  like 
those  who  for  generations  have  streamed  forth  from  Vermont  and  have 
become  ruling  influences  in  the  cities.  But  the  Vermonter  who  remained 
at  home  often  chose  the  better  part.  Man  for  man  the  urban  is  no  match 
for  the  rural  mind. 

Vermont's  only  city  that  fairly  seems  a  city  is  Burlington,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  Rutland.  And  neither  of  these,  happily,  has  far 
outgrown  the  marks  and  merits  of  the  village.     The  entire  state  is  a 


VILLAGES    OF   VERMONT  33 

succession  of  communities  of  two  to  five  or  six  thousand,  each  possessing 
most  of  those  features  that  make  life  good.  They  lack,  indeed,  in  their 
churches,  the  brilliant  eloquence  of  great  preachers,  but  their  pulpits  are 
occupied  by  men  who  think  and  who  make  their  hearers  think.  The 
villager  may  have  fewer  books  to  read  than  his  city  friends,  but  he  is 
better  read  for  having  less  to  read.  His  village  library  is  digested  be- 
cause it  is  not  too  various  and  huge.  He  knows  the  great  thoughts  of 
the  ages,  and  places  himself  in  harmony  with  the  life  around  him.  He 
knows  better  than  the  labor  leader  the  futility  of  political  nostrums,  tried 
and  tried  in  vain  in  all  their  specious  aspects  since  the  days  of  the  Greeks. 
You  can  fool  a  great  part  of  the  world,  but  you  cannot  fool  the  typical 
English  or  Scotch  Vermonter  by  an  argument  that  anything  except  charac- 
ter in  the  citizen  can  raise  a  strong  state. 

This  quality  of  political  soundness,  such  as  we  saw  in  Senator  Edmunds, 
and  later  in  Judge  Ide,  is  the  emphatic  mark  of  the  Vermonter.  He  does 
not  go  off  half-cocked.  Good  judgment,  shown  so  clearly  in  his  home  af- 
fairs, is  equally  apparent  in  him  when  he  goes  forth  on  national  errands. 
He  does  not  grow  excited.  Like  Dewey,  who  calmly  ordered  his  officer  to 
fire  when  ready,  the  average  Vermonter  fires  when  ready,  neither  before 
nor  after,  and  with  a  cool  head  and  untrembling  arm  he  hits  the  mark,  if 
anybody  can. 

The  good  qualities  of  canniness  without  its  taint  of  selfishness,  of 
caution  that  can  be  daring  when  it  is  ready  to  strike,  are  admirable  features 
of  Vermonters.  A  Vermonter  in  a  business  of  some  dimensions  had  with 
him  younger  men  who  carried  out  the  usual  routine  but  sometimes  reached 
for  that  which  might  overset  them.  I  once  asked  this  man,  after  he  had 
been  to  his  ofiice  many  years,  if  he  still  took  an  active  part  in  business. 
"  Yes,  I  go  every  day,"  he  replied,  "  and  once  in  a  while  I  say  No." 
The  quiet  drollery  of  the  wise  experienced  face  was  irresistible.  The 
strength  of  the  hills  is  in  the  blood  of  these  men.  They  love  things 
worth  loving  and  hate  what  is  hateful.  Getting  together  numerous  things 
and  counting  the  congeries  of  pelf  is  one  man's  lifej  gaining  poise,  and 


34  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

enjoying  today  In  such  a  manner  that  tomorrow  is  more  enjoyable,  is 
another  and  better  man's  life. 

How  far  the  land  he  lives  in  makes  the  Vermonter  is  not  easy  to  say. 
We  know,  however,  that  the  man  fits  the  state  and  that  state  and  man 
react  eflFectively  and  satisfactorily.  If  the  state  does  not  form  its  men  it 
favors  the  development  of  those  qualities  most  admirable  and  most  hopeful 
in  citizens  of  a  state  which  we  pray  may  last  long,  the  stars  of  its  flag 
still  reproducing  the  beauty  and  strength  of  the  stars  above  us. 

The  mountains,  then,  of  Vermont  are  not  too  high  for  its  citizens  to 
climb,  its  valleys  not  too  profound  for  them  to  develop.  Its  background 
is  one  of  strength,  quietness,  and  hope.  It  has  mysteries  like  every 
human  character  that  is  not  shallow.  It  suggests  wealth  of  resource,  and 
offers  a  theater  for  courage  and  hardy  effort  —  the  kind  of  courage  and 
hardihood  that  is  not  afraid  to  do  what  it  were  well  to  have  done. 

Hence  the  Vermont  villager  is  satisfied  that  his  home  is  good  and  suited 
to  the  enrichment  of  life,  stimulative  to  those  faculties  which  we  like 
to  see  saliently  in  our  brothers.  In  his  valley,  nestled  between  the  hills, 
he  rationally  tries  to  develop  that  kind  of  a  community,  which,  to  a  wise 
aeronaut,  would  appear  appropriate,  learning  to  grapple  human  problems 
manfully,  and  to  leave  a  memory  that  will  impress  mankind  with  the 
worth  and  dignity  of  life. 

Historians  have  often  elaborated  the  development  of  the  small  Greek 
city,  and  have  found  much  to  commend  in  the  kind  of  human  stimulus 
it  afforded.  We  are  strongly  of  opinion  that  a  Vermont  village,  un- 
walled,  tends  to  build  up  a  better  average  individual  than  did  the  ancient 
Greek  city.  The  "  village  Hampden  "  may  grow  here  to  perfection, 
but  he  goes  forth  to  stand  for  all  that  the  original  greater  Hampden 
stood.  There  is  no  bucolic  narrowness  here  such  as  delineated  in  Gray's 
Elegy.  There  is  plenty  of  timber  for  a  national  structure  in  the  Ver- 
mont character.  That  it  is  not  all  applied  need  not  so  much  fret  us. 
The  finest  use  of  character  is  its  very  being.  If  Vermont  raises  men  of 
good  bone  and  fine  lineaments,  that  is  what  the  state  wants  and  that  is 


FARMS    AND    FARMERS    OF    VERMONT  37 

what  they  came  into  the  world  to  be.  If  they  are  not  drafted  into  the 
broader  concerns  of  life,  it  is  satisfactory  to  see  they  are  grand  material. 
The  Vermont  village  has  its  particularly  loved  mountain  and  stream. 
The  sweep  of  its  hill  road  is  photographed  on  the  villager's  mind  from 
the  days  of  barefoot  wandering.  The  whole  community  physically  and 
humanly  blends,  fits,  and  interplays.  Of  all  retreats  for  the  overwrought 
mind,  of  all  satisfactory  settings  for  human  residence,  the  Vermont  vil- 
lage perhaps  makes  a  stronger  appeal  than  communities  of  any  other 
state.  Though  the  influx  of  the  Canadian  is  changing  the  better  con- 
ditions, there  are  still  many  places  where  the  race  of  the  first  settlers 
is  predominant,  and  here  in  a  community  delightful  from  its  easily  com- 
mensurable bounds,  one  understands  and  places  one's  self  in  a  cozy  corner 
of  an  excellent  world. 


V.     FARMS   AND    FARMERS    OF   VERMONT 

OOME  years  ago  the  author  travelled  two  hundred  miles  through  a 
^  fine  agricultural  country  without  seeing  anything  sufficiently  pic- 
turesque to  call  for  a  pause.  But  this  cannot  be  done  in  Vermont.  Here 
is  the  state  of  the  ideal  farm.  A  farm  which  can  ofiFer  nothing  but  broad 
acres,  fails  in  answering  the  dreams  of  those  millions  who  have,  or  in- 
tend sometime  to  have,  a  place  to  feed  their  souls  as  well  as  their  bodies. 
Vermont  farms  are  so  often  nestled  in  a  bowl  of  the  hills,  and  so  com- 
monly have  individual  features  which  appeal  to  the  lover  of  home,  that 
perhaps  they  excel  the  farms  of  all  other  states.  Certainly  all  regions 
with  a  rolling  contour,  trees,  and  streams  give  promise  of  rural  home- 
steads, each  having  its  charm.  But  in  Vermont  there  is  such  a  home- 
stead around  every  corner. 

These  farms  can  be  named.  What  city  man  would  not  pay  almost 
double  for  a  place  well  named?  The  poverty  of  names  is  one  of  the 
humiliations  of  average  human  nature.     How  many  thousand  "  Lake- 


38  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

view  "  or  "  Maplewood  "  farms  do  we  pass?  But  here  in  Vermont  is 
a  constant  challenge  to  name  a  country  place  by  a  distinctive  appellation. 
Here  may  be  "  Dell  Dale,"  or  "  Green  Rock,"  or  "  Elm  Crest  Farm." 
On  the  fine  slopes  why  should  we  not  find  "  Jefferson  Downs,"  "  Man- 
chester Lea,"  "  Bradford  Mead?  "  We  pass  daily  what  could  be  known 
as  "  Moss  Cliff,"  or  "  Crag  Crest,"  or  "  Green  Dome  Farm."  But  just 
as  a  countryside  allows  fair  birch  monarchs  by  the  roadside,  trees  for 
which  the  appreciative  would  pay  a  king's  ransom,  to  be  tagged  with 
advertising,  so  it  allows  its  best  rural  assets  to  go  unnamed.  Sentiment 
in  farm  names  goes  far  to  make  the  farm  alluring.  "  Happy  Valley  " 
is  found,  and  "  Apple  Knoll  "  may  be.  "  Westover  "  and  "  Eastover  " 
and  perhaps  the  other  points  of  the  compass  have  been  well  and  wisely 
used.  "  Elmunder "  is  better  than  "  The  Elms."  And  even  "  Elm- 
over  "  might  do  at  a  pinch.  It  could  be  varied  as  "  Elmo'er."  Why 
not  "  Broadoak  Farm?  "  Or  "  Leeholme,"  or  "  holme "  as  the  last 
syllable  preceded  by  the  name  of  the  owner? 

The  flowers  and  the  trees  found  around  a  country  place  afford  abun- 
dant material  for  a  play  of  fancy  in  inventing  names.  "  Aspenmoor," 
"  Maple  Hollow,"  and  "  Laurel  Glade "  readily  suggest  themselves. 
A  name  frankly  taken  from  the  family  that  inherits  the  acres  or  hopes 
to  hold  them  affords  at  least  a  distinctive  name,  as  "  Gale  Hall  "  or 
"  Vining  House  "  or  "  Marshall  Place."  The  English  are  past  masters 
in  this  matter  of  names,  as  perhaps  we  shall  be  when  we  have  a  back- 
ground of  a  thousand  years.  But  why  wait?  If  one  effort  to  get  a 
name  were  made  where  now  a  thousand  strains  are  endured  for  the  sake 
of  a  farm  wall,  we  might  have  a  countryside  like  a  poem. 

The  persons  who  named  the  towns  along  the  Connecticut  in  Vermont 
attained  no  small  degree  of  pleasing  and  historic  suggestions  in  Barnet, 
Piermont,  Fairlee,  Bradford,  Ely,  Thetford,  Westminster,  while  the 
Indian  names  are  usually  euphonious  —  though  hard  to  spell.  Why 
should  we  try  to  spell  them?  The  Indians  did  not,  but  even  varied 
their  pronunciation  until  a  half  dozen,  originally  identical,  grew  to  be 
merely  similar  names. 


FARMS    AND    FARMERS    OF    VERMONT  41 

But  the  Vermont  farm,  still  to  be  named,  was  not  forgotten  in  the 
layout  of  the  world's  surface.  Each  of  a  multitude  has  a  full  quota  of 
all  the  features  which  enrich  and  vary  the  farm  life.  A  maple  orchard 
every  farm  has  without  doubt.  A  pasture  —  often  the  most  fascinating 
of  all  landscapes  to  lead  us  on  —  a  wood  lot,  a  meadow,  an  upper  field, 
an  apple  orchard. 

Farm  life  becomes  attractive  in  proportion  to  its  variety.  The  Ver- 
mont farm  calls  at  every  season  for  attention  to  some  part  of  its  well- 
drained  acres.  The  winter  has  its  work  in  the  wood,  getting  out  for  the 
next  winter  its  store  for  heating  the  farmhouse.  Maple  and  beech  and 
birch,  all  abundant  in  Vermont,  are  all  admirable  for  their  intense  heat- 
ing powers.  The  old  maple  that  for  generations  has  shaded  a  corner 
of  the  pasture  and  given  of  its  sweetness  in  sugaring  time  must  be  felled 
at  last.  Its  finer  portions,  perhaps,  go  into  a  new  floor  or  a  turned  chair, 
to  call  to  mind  its  ancient  worth.  The  gnarled  portion  on  the  hearth 
sends  out  a  fitful  play  of  flame  from  the  knotholes.  So  the  tree,  first 
shade,  then  sweetness,  becomes  warmth,  and  throughout  its  career  unites 
its  destiny  delightfully  with  the  farmer  and  his  home.  It  is  a  life  which 
weaves  itself,  man  and  nature,  in  an  intimate,  harmonious,  and  poetic 
unity.  Indignant  poets  may  mourn  that  the  toiler  is  so  little  above  the 
sod  he  turns.  There  is  a  far  nobler  aspect  of  country  life  —  that  which 
recognizes  and  joys  in  the  interplay  of  nature  and  man  —  himself  the 
finest  product  of  her  fecundity,  but  nevertheless  not  improved  by  for- 
getting his  origin.  The  man  who  knows  soils  and  rocks,  who  under- 
stands the  procession  of  the  seasons,  and  fits  himself  to  take  his  part  at 
the  right  moment  in  their  bounty j  the  man  who  grows  familiar  with  the 
form  and  direction  of  the  clouds  over  his  own  particular  hill,  and  tests 
his  planting  and  his  harvest  time  by  quiet  but  unmistakable  tokens  in 
nature  J  the  man  who  adjusts  himself  and  his  labors  so  that  heat  and  cold, 
wind  and  calm,  freshet  and  frost,  all  bring  their  toll  to  him,  and  autumn 
lays  her  crown  on  his  labors,  is  as  content  as  a  mortal  can  be,  or  perhaps 
ought  to  be. 


42  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

The  farm  with  its  good  road  5  its  quick  little  motor  carj  its  wired  and 
wireless  touch  with  all  the  pulsing  world  j  its  self-contained  various 
wealth,  has  presented,  or  now  presents,  to  nearly  all  children  of  Adam 
an  aspect  too  winning  to  be  forgotten  even  if  forsaken. 

The  Vermont  farmer,  so  far  as  he  can  plan  his  efforts  to  raise,  rather 
than  to  buy,  animal  fodder,  has  in  his  rich  corn  and  grain  fields  every- 
thing to  produce  abundance  and  a  competence.  Of  course  numerous 
farm  journals,  edited  usually  from  easy  chairs  overlooking  city  roofs, 
are  full  of  certain  rules,  following  which  the  farmer  is  to  become  the 
plethoric  fountain  of  all  our  wealth. 

But  when  that  glamour  is  removed,  and  we  come  down  to  the  torrid 
labor  of  haying,  to  the  grappling  with  drenched,  plowed  lands  of  plant- 
ing time  and  the  unseasonable  conduct  of  the  year,  never  dependable  for 
a  day,  we  recognize  that  the  farmer  requires  more  faith  than  any  other 
worker.  But  what  the  broad-minded  farmer  knows  is,  that  in  the  process 
of  the  years,  nature  is  not  an  impossible  ally.  If  she  skimps  during  one 
season,  so  that  the  blossoms  are  frosted,  she  doubles  a  good  gift  another 
year,  and  the  forehanded  and  careful,  taking  the  elements  as  they  come, 
win  at  last.  Those  ,who  complain  of  sameness  in  farm  life,  plainly  know 
nothing  about  it. 

Neither  is  the  monotony  which  tends  to  establish  itself  in  the  life  of 
every  woman  present  on  the  farm  more  than  in  the  city  home,  when 
modern  change  is  taken  into  account.  We  wonder  whether  the  great 
war,  which  often  drove  women  into  the  garden,  and  even  the  orchard 
and  hay  field,  was  not  a  blessing  in  disguise  so  far  as  farm  life  is  con- 
cerned? Italian  women  never  spend  much  time  indoors,  a  fact  for  which 
their  climate  is  partly  accountable.  But  they  have  chosen  the  better  part, 
and  hate  walls.  There  are  many  things  the  farmer's  wife  does  in  the 
way  of  indoor  decorative  work  which  would  better  be  left  undone.  The 
woman  in  the  garden,  mixing  the  flowers  with  the  cabbages,  as  they  do  in 
England,  is  a  happier  woman  —  happier,  at  least,  in  the  results  obtained. 

Turning  to  economic  matters,  it  is  only  justice  to  say  that  pinching 


FARMS    AND    FARMERS    OF    VERMONT  45 

poverty  in  the  country  can,  as  elsewhere,  be  soul  depressing.  Where 
such  a  condition  exists,  of  course  it  can  only  be  overcome  by  the  steady 
lift,  backed  by  moral  decency,  of  all  members  of  the  family.  But  is 
not  city  poverty,  in  one  or  two  rooms,  far  more  bitter  and  shameful  than 
anything  we  see  in  the  country?  The  country  poor  get  for  themselves 
a  limited  independence,  at  least,  not  contingent  on  the  ups  and  downs 
of  markets.  The  peas  grow  as  well  in  a  financial  panic  as  in  booming 
times.  Who,  possessing  a  cow  and  a  cornfield,  needs  to  know  what  Wall 
Street  is  doing?  One  lives  nearer  the  truth  and  the  heart  of  things  who 
lives  on  the  sod.  Whatever  of  misery  the  French  peasant  may  need  to 
undergo  with  his  old-fashioned  methods,  is  not  a  criterion  for  the  Vermont 
farmer  with  his  tractor  and  his  harrow. 

The  relation  of  a  farm  to  the  study  of  the  beautiful  was  well  known 
to  artists,  who,  like  Constable,  have  enthralled  generations  by  their  de- 
piction of  country  life.  And  today  a  small  homestead,  with  its  stone 
walls,  its  generous  shade,  its  flanking  orchard  and  protecting  hill,  its 
purling  brook  and  upland  pasture  whence  the  cattle  come  lowing  home, 
is  the  proper  picture  of  the  ideally  seated  human  family.  Such  a  picture 
appeals  to  the  feelings  as  much  as  to  the  aesthetic  sense,  and  when  its 
appeal  is  thus  doubled  it  is  irresistible. 

The  Vermont  farmer  joins  with  the  Maine  farmer,  in  New  England, 
in  being  solely  devoted  to  his  trade.  The  farmers  in  other  New  England 
states  play  at  farming,  but  it  is  easy  to  tell,  even  from  afar,  where  metro- 
politan dollars  have  tried  unsuccessfully  to  give  a  farm  the  true  aspect 
it  should  have.  The  first  effort  of  an  urban  purchaser  of  a  farm  is  de- 
voted to  walls.  They  have  more  of  his  investment  than  the  fields  behind 
them.  To  be  sure  they  are  not  needed.  But  the  city  purchaser  has  not 
yet  come  to  see  the  primary  law,  that  nothing  is  beautiful  if  unnecessary. 
Cattle  no  longer  wander  at  will,  therefore  the  pasture  is  the  only  portion 
of  a  farm  that  requires  a  fence.  Economically  speaking,  no  farm  can 
succeed  if  it  is  all  fenced.  The  fence  is  a  greater  item  of  expense  than 
the  farm  itself.     But  the  old  stone  walls,  so  fast  being  fed  to  the  hopper 


46  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

of  the  stone  crushers,  were  built  for  necessity  and  were  the  commonest 
agreeable  features  of  the  Vermont  farm.  Where  they  still  exist  a  little 
attention,  not  too  much,  gives  them  a  harmonious  aspect,  melting  into  the 
landscape  with  artistic  effect. 

Unnecessary,  modern  stone  walls  may  be  displeasing,  but  the  fearfully 
obnoxious  feature  of  poles  to  carry  all  sorts  of  wires  is  the  biggest  prac- 
tical question  of  the  farm,  if  its  beauty  is  to  be  retained.  A  few  more 
such  destructive  storms  as  we  have  experienced  in  recent  years  may  cause 
the  companies  that  erect  these  monstrosities  to  see  that,  in  the  long  run,  a 
shallow  pipe  may  more  economically  carry  their  wires  than  a  pole  line. 
The  increasing  cost  of  wood,  relatively  to  metal,  will  help  to  bring  about 
this  improvement.  A  telegraph  pole  is  a  very  expensive  affair,  and  is 
continually,  and  happily,  becoming  more  expensive.  Perhaps  wireless 
methods  may  solve  this  highly  important  problem,  but  that  it  must  be 
solved  if  life  is  not  to  be  unspeakably  ugly,  is  obvious.  The  leaning  and 
ruinous  silo,  too,  built  by  the  farmer  who  fatuously  supposes  it  will  stand, 
will,  of  course,  be  supplanted  by  the  masonry  silo,  such  as  we  see  in 
France,  whence  it  was  adopted. 

A  striking  economic  feature  of  Vermont  farms  is  their  occasional  cir- 
cular or  dodecagonal  barns.  A  barn  with  a  silo  for  a  hub  and  animals 
tied  in  the  circle  around  it  appeals  to  the  practical  sense  of  the  Ver- 
monter  who  thus  secures  the  maximum  space  for  the  least  material.  An- 
other economic  feature,  and  a  very  usual  arrangement  whereby  the  hay- 
rack is  driven  into  the  barn  by  a  rising  bridge,  is  facilitated  by  the  sloping 
sites  available  for  barns.  Thus  the  load  is  quickly  dumped  off  without 
lifting,  and  falls,  as  from  an  attic,  to  a  ground  floor.  The  pride  of  the 
farmer  is  his  barn.  His  convenient  material  for  barns  saves  him  from 
the  wasteful  stack  storage.  It  is  thought  bad  form  to  have  a  house  that 
is  not  greatly  exceeded  in  size  by  the  barn.  Such  buildings,  with  a  com 
house,  and  perhaps  a  shop,  and  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  a  sugar  house, 
are  an  effective  combination  of  practicality  and  poetry,  especially  if  well 
set,  amply  shaded,  or  ensconced  in  the  blooms  of  May. 


A  MORE  BEAUTIFUL  VERMONT         49 

Equipped  with  such  a  farm,  the  Vermont  farmer  is,  however,  often 
farther  from  market  than  is  compatible  with  daily  journeys  hence.  But 
his  products  are  partly  intensive.  Of  the  butter,  cheese,  sugar,  and  the 
more  concentrated  articles,  he  can  easily  draw  large  loads  down  hill,  for 
there  in  the  valley  is  the  railway  always,  and  the  market  town  generally. 
The  first  principle  of  the  good  Vermont  farmer  is  that  all  the  heavy  articles 
should  be  produced  at  home  and  never  drawn  up  hill. 


VI.     A   MORE   BEAUTIFUL   VERMONT 

^  I  ^HE  most  exquisite  birches  we  ever  discovered  grew  on  a  slope  look- 
-*-  ing  down  upon  the  Connecticut.  Among  them  there  were  huge 
and  hoary  boles.  Below  them  lay  the  fallen  leaders  of  an  earlier  day 
in  orderly  and  picturesque  confusion.  A  long  river  reach  opened  be- 
tween their  branches.  The  soft  pasture  sod  was  springy  beneath  our 
feet.  The  grouping  of  the  birches  was  perfect  j  the  setting  was  superior 
in  its  attraction  to  any  public  parkj  it  was  worth  a  day^s  journey  to  view 
it.  The  dwellers  near  it  had  an  asset  to  feed  their  souls  j  it  was  worthy 
to  be  cherished  as  their  most  important  possession.  We  took  dinner  at 
the  nearest  farmhouse,  not  forty  rods  from  our  discovery,  and  while 
there  learned  that  the  farmer's  wife,  who  had  lived  on  that  farm  all  her 
days,  which  were  now  few,  had  never  noticed  nor  felt  the  beauty  of  the 
birch  hillside.  It  was  necessary  to  take  her  to  the  spot  before  she  knew 
what  we  were  talking  about.  Such  a  lamentable  lack  of  recognition  of  local 
beauty  is  not  uncommon.  We  once  said  to  a  homesteader  whose  place 
faced  a  lofty  mountain,  "  What  is  the  name  of  this  mountain?  "  "  Gosh, 
I  do'n  know,"  he  replied.  Of  course  he  was  not  a  Vermonter!  Much 
experience  has  shown  that  the  finest  features  of  a  landscape  are  often 
lost  to  those  who  live  near  them,  to  those  who  should  feel  their  appeal. 
In  the  search  for  beauty  the  prime  error  is  in  imagining  we  must  go 
far  afield.     We  are  continually  being  begged  to  ascend  this  or  that  height 


50  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

for  the  "  view,"  when  from  the  valleys  where  we  are  the  mountains  arc 
more  beautiful  than  anything  we  could  see  from  their  summits.  Lofty 
prospects  may  serve  to  vary  our  experience  and  divert  the  mind,  but  near 
and  exquisite  prospects  are  more  numerous  and  clearer.  When  we  glance 
at  a  distant  forest  we  miss  the  witching  contrast  of  a  hemlock  twig  when 
the  pale  green  growth  tips  the  dark  needles  of  a  previous  year.  One 
elm  in  the  dooryard,  understood  and  loved,  is  far  better  than  thousands 
miles  away.  Ever  the  uncounted  assets  are  the  larger  part  of  our  in- 
heritance. People  in  the  south  of  Vermont  will  sometimes  journey  all 
the  way  north  to  see  Mount  Mansfield  only  to  learn,  if  they  are  at  all 
discriminating,  that  they  have  passed  on  their  way  many  peaks  more 
attractive. 

Little  by  little  the  villages  of  Vermont  are  coming  to  know  that  the 
best  possessions  of  their  state  have  been  overlooked.  With  this  awaken- 
ing some  have  leaped  into  public  view  and  are  advertising  their  particular 
region  as  the  rival  of  Switzerland.  As  if  Vermont  had  one  feature  to 
suggest  that  cold  perpendicularity  on  the  other  side  of  the  water! 

What  can  be  done,  however,  to  make  the  beauty  of  Vermont  more 
accessible,  and  therefore  better  known?  In  answer,  there  are  several 
suggestions  . 

For  a  few  weeks  somebody  with  an  eye  for  beauty  should  travel  with 
a  woodsman  over  Vermont  roads,  and  on  vantage  points  open,  at  the  road- 
sides, between  the  bushes,  little  vistas  of  mountain  and  stream.  There 
are  many  sections  where  one  may  drive  for  miles  without  an  opening  to 
permit  a  vision  of  the  beauty  that  flows  beside  his  way  or  rises  in  appeal 
above  him.  The  Messrs.  Smiley,  of  Lake  Mohonk,  have  shown  us  what 
can  be  done  in  revealing  attractive  views.  They  have  made  every  turn 
on  their  estates  a  box  in  nature's  wide,  pure  theatre.  Pity  that  we  must 
go  to  another  state  to  find  a  satisfactory  example  of  doing  things  as  they 
should  be  done!  There  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why,  in  Vermont, 
the  average  wood  road  along  a  stream  should  not  become  entrancing. 
We  speak  feelingly  on  this  subject,  after  having  fought  our  way  through 


A    MORE    BEAUTIFUL    VERMONT  53 

brush  for  twenty  years  in  order  to  see  what  every  interest  of  the  residents 
of  the  region  should  have  made  it  easy  to  see.  If  ten  per  cent,  of  the 
sums  spent  for  "  publicity  "  in  any  resort  state  were  expended  in  revealing 
the  beauties  of  that  state,  visitors  would  flock  to  it. 

Also,  there  ought  to  be  erected,  occasionally,  simple  signs  pointing  to 
peaks  or  streams  and  giving  their  names.  We  have  been  amused  to  see 
hundreds  of  elms  on  Boston  Common  marked  "  American  Elm."  But 
on  the  other  hand  we  have  been  saddened  that  the  dwellers  in  regions  of 
charming  scenery  do  not  care  enough  for  their  guests  or  for  themselves 
to  put  up  a  sign  post. 

Another  moral  obligation  of  every  state  is  to  prevent  the  attaching  of 
notices  to  wayside  trees.  In  practice  the  advertiser  naturally  chooses  the 
noblest  trees  he  can  find. 

A  somewhat  more  extensive  but  worth  while  work  should  be  the 
trimming  off  of  scrub  for  considerable  stretches  along  the  roadside  so 
that  the  trees  left  may  be  allowed  to  develop  gracefully.  There  is  many 
a  farm  in  Vermont  with  a  border  of  birches,  which,  if  given  a  chance, 
would  shortly  double  the  value  of  the  farm.  It  may  bring  a  blush  to  our 
faces  to  urge  for  beauty  a  consideratioin  so  purely  commercial,  but  if  such 
a  motive  is  effective,  the  world  will  be  the  gainer.  We  can  state  with  a 
sad  candor  that  we  cannot  remember  many  spots  in  Vermont  where  any 
advantage  has  been  taken  by  the  owner  of  the  natural  material  in  his 
roadside  border.  He  will,  indeed,  often  care  for  a  row  of  maples,  because 
he  can  derive  revenue  from  them;  but  he  has  an  opportunity  for  proving 
that  he  does  not  live  for  sugar  alone,  by  giving  his  birches  and  beeches 
half  a  chance.  It  is  not  desirable  to  establish  park  conditions,  still  less 
to  arrange  trees  in  rows.  A  hatchet  an  hour  a  year,  judiciously  applied, 
would  double  the  pleasure  of  the  farmer  and  his  friends  in  the  roadside 
beauties  that  could  then  be  trusted  to  display  themselves. 

Many  of  our  railways  are  planting  running  roses  on  the  steep  slopes 
of  their  right  of  way.  These  need  no  care  when  well  rooted,  and  are 
said  to  be  of  the  highest  economic  value  in  holding  banks  from  wash. 


54  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

It  is,  perhaps,  hoping  too  much  to  think  that  our  roadsides  ever  will  be 
treated  like  the  railroad  banks  j  but  one  need  travel  only  a  short  distance 
after  torrential  rains  to  see  that  the  gullied  slopes  should  have  been  held 
by  sowing  the  seeds  of  various  tenacious  plants.  The  charge  upon  the 
towns  of  restoring  the  numerous  washed  banks  of  roads,  especially  of  the 
new  state  roads,  is  immense,  and  it  is  nearly  all  avoidable.  We  cherish 
the  hope  that  self  interest,  if  not  the  love  of  beauty,  may  cause  the  neces- 
sary care  in  protecting  highway  property. 

Perhaps  another  easily  accomplished  work  has  been  overlooked.  Here 
and  there  various  old  farm  buildings  have  been  allowed  to  fall  to  ruin. 
As  a  menace  in  case  of  fire,  a  temptation  to  tramps,  and  an  eyesore  to 
the  community,  the  public  should,  and  readily  could,  compel  the  destruc- 
tion of  such  property.  In  more  thickly  settled  communities  such  meas- 
ures are  taken.  We  have  only  to  extend  the  custom,  and  this  can  be 
done  with  little  public  expense  by  giving  away  the  ruinous  edifices  for 
lumber  and  fuel. 

Most  of  our  states  have  such  areas  of  congested  squalor,  that  a  vast  and 
perhaps  intolerable  burden  would  rest  upon  their  communities  should 
they  attempt  any  wholesale  millennium  measures  to  bring  back  to  beauty 
their  scarred  and  outraged  landscapes.  But  in  Vermont  it  is  very  dif- 
ferent. Very  little  requires  to  be  done.  It  is  the  most  favorable  state 
in  the  Union  in  which  to  undertake  such  improvements.  The  entire  state 
is  an  admirable  experimental  field  for  demonstrating  that  man  and  nature 
may  live  in  harmony  with  beauty. 

This  work  is  a  moral  obligation.  If  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness, 
beauty  is  a  part  of  godliness.  What  deed  recorded  in  a  registrar's  office 
gives  any  moral  right  to  disfigure  a  portion  of  the  fair  earth? 

As  regards  the  palisades  of  the  Hudson  the  public  conscience  was 
awakened,  and  measures  were  taken  to  prevent  their  ruin.  An  extension 
of  public  action  in  like  cases  of  neglect  or  degradation  would  make  all 
America  beautiful.  It  was  originally  made  beautiful.  Nature  contin- 
ually attempts  to  cover  the  wounds  we  make,  as  on  the  battlefields  where 


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VERMONT    COTTAGE    SITES  57 

lilies  grow.  With  so  much  incentive  as  Vermont  possesses  in  her  natural 
advantages,  so  largely  unspoiled  as  yet,  it  would  be  a  crime  against  the  best 
in  our  natures  did  we  not  attempt  to  preserve  and  reveal  the  graces  of  her 
hills  and  streams. 

Fifty  years  ago  such  suggestions  were  ridiculed.  But  the  moral  sense 
of  obligation  to  the  world  we  live  in,  as  well  as  toward  its  inhabitants, 
is  being  quickened.  If  we  can  give  much  joy  to  generations,  by  arranging 
before  their  eyes  panoramas  of  exquisite  contour,  we  have  quick  reward 
for  our  efforts,  and  make  life  richer  for  thousands. 

Nor  are  such  efforts  the  rich  man's  fad,  or  exclusive  privileges.  It  is 
the  cottage  home  that  is  susceptible  of  greatest  improvement.  It  is  cottages 
that  we  picture  and  that  people  love  to  dwell  upon,  and  in,  rather  than 
palaces,  which  cannot  look  at  home  in  any  landscape.  Such  a  setting  as 
that  on  page  295  cannot  be  secured  except  by  keeping  to  small  scales. 
As  the  diamond  is  concentrated  glory,  so  the  little  cottage  is  concentrated 
beauty,  when  intelligence  sets  to  work  to  make  it  so.  This  thought  com- 
pels further  elucidation  in  the  next  chapter. 


VII.     VERMONT   COTTAGE   SITES 

THERE  is  scarcely  a  farm  in  Vermont  without  an  excellent,  often 
an  ideal,  cottage  site,  but  frequently  little  advantage  has  been  taken 
of  natural  surroundings.  In  the  old  days,  following  the  peasant  habit 
of  Europe,  the  dwelling  was  placed  just  against  the  highway,  where  the 
rooms  were  soon  buried  in  dust  and  swarming  with  flies.  The  barn,  also, 
was  so  placed  as  to  shut  off  all  prospect,  though  in  this  respect  Vermont 
went  far  ahead  of  some  parts  of  France  and  Germany,  where  the  compost 
heap  is  directly  before  the  front  door.  But  thus  placing  a  cottage  is  all 
unnecessary.  A  location  on  a  birch  hillside,  with  the  land  still  rising  be- 
hind, overlooking  a  winding  road,  a  valley  with  its  silver  stream  below 


58  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

and  a  lovely  outline  of  hills  beyond,  is  as  easy  to  find  in  Vermont  as  it 
is  difficult  to  find  in  many  other  states. 

A  suitable  site  having  been  selected,  the  beautifying  of  the  cottage  sur- 
roundings should  receive  attention.  Nature  has  provided  groupings  of 
trees  by  the  side  of  which  a  little  house  may  be  like  a  nest.  We  allow 
the  birds  to  outstrip  us  in  taste.  They  must  wonder  at  our  failure  to 
make  use  of  natural  advantages.  Not  seldom  a  new  house  is  erected 
without  a  tree  near  it.  In  towns  in  other  states  such  a  thing  may  be  un- 
avoidable, but  never  in  Vermont.  We  should  say  there  may  be  a  thou- 
sand old  sites  surrounded  by  noble  trees,  in  Vermont,  where  once  dwellings 
stood.  Such  a  setting  is  often  more  valuable  than  the  dwelling  to  be 
erected.  Trees  should  not  be  too  near  the  house,  however.  They  seem 
to  know  how  to  arrange  themselves,  if  we  do  our  part  and  refrain  from 
intruding  on  their  dignity  yet  approach  near  enough  to  feel  their  friend- 
liness. Shrubs  may  be  used  about  the  cottage,  but  they  are  better  suited 
to  the  city,  where  the  effort  is  more  to  hide  than  to  disclose  the  dwelling, 
but  a  background  of  evergreens  increases  winter  and  summer  comfort.  Of 
green  grass  about  a  Vermont  cottage  there  can  be  no  lack,  for  here  the 
sward  is  green  more  months  in  the  year  than  elsewhere  in  America,  unless 
artificially  stimulated.  The  old-fashioned  garden,  for  those  who  can 
give  it  attention,  is,  like  a  Thetford  garden,  page  196,  a  heart's  delight. 
But  nature  is  so  prodigal  in  Vermont,  that  such  a  garden,  at  the  side  of  a 
house  with  a  naturally  rolling  lawn  in  front,  and  on  the  other  side  shel- 
tered by  trees  that,  like  Topsy,  "  just  growed,"  is  almost  too  much  of 
comfort  and  joy  for  one  season. 

The  following  are  a  few  rules  for  simple  Vermont  dwellings  and  their 
location: 

1.  They  should  be  well  removed  from  the  road. 

2.  They  should  never  be  lower,  but  preferably  higher  than  the  road. 

3.  The  site  should  be  capable  of  natural  drainage. 

4.  Good  trees  should  be  near. 

5.  The  approach  should  be  winding.     Straight  Dutch  effects  are  not 
favored  in  a  hill  country. 


THE    TREES    OF    VERMONT  6i 

6.  Porches  ought  to  be  small,  and  never  surround  two  sides  of  a 
house. 

7.  Since  a  house  needs  sunlight  most  of  the  year  it  is  better,  if 
people  desire  large  verandas,  to  build  them  like  an  open  summer 
house,  detached,  or  touching  the  dwelling  at  only  one  corner. 

8.  The  rooms  should  be  few  and  large. 

9.  The  roof  should  have  a  sharp  pitch,  not  less  than  forty  per  cent. 
Italian  roof  architecture  is  out  of  place  in  this  part  of  the  world 
and  has  caused  much  trouble.  The  sharper  the  pitch,  up  to  sixty- 
seven  degrees,  the  more  enduring  the  roof,  the  better  the  cham- 
bers, and  the  more  attractive  the  effect. 

10.  The  ceilings  should  be  low. 

11.  Fireplaces,  at  least  in  two  rooms,  should  be  provided,  and  their 
construction,  like  that  of  the  house  itself,  should  be  of  native 
materials. 

12.  Avoid  a  multiplicity  of  buildings  in  the  farmstead.  The  shed 
should  connect  with  the  house,  and  all  the  other  buildings  should 
be  under  one  roof  j  even  a  ,wire-lined  corn  room  with  a  ventilated 
side  can  be  accommodated  in  the  common  barn,  stable,  and  tool 
house.  Thus  great  outlay  is  saved,  and  the  artistic  possibilities 
are  increased.  If  under  modern  conditions  a  garage  is  required 
it  should  be  connected  with  the  shed. 

13.  Modern  plumbing  is  clearly  the  due  of  the  Vermont  housekeeper. 


VIII.    THE   TREES    OF   VERMONT 

THE  favorite  companion  tree  for  a  Vermont  house  is  the  elm.  It 
grows  more  gracefully  in  America  than  in  England,  and  is  the 
typical  tree  in  the  well-watered  northern  part  of  our  country.  It  carries 
its  roots  near  the  surface,  and  sometimes  in  dry  weather  their  outline 
may  be  traced  by  the  browning  of  the  grass  above  them. 


62  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

Besides  the  usual  forms  of  the  elm,  there  are  the  drooping,  or  weeping 
elm,  which  is  very  rare,  and  the  common  feathered  elm.  The  latter 
carries  down  almost  to  the  ground  small  feathery  branches,  and  derives 
its  name  from  the  feathered  leg  of  the  dooryard  fowl.  It  is  a  very  grace- 
ful variety  and  most  pleasing.  In  addition,  there  is  the  vase  elm,  which 
for  symmetry  leaves  little  to  be  desired.  Examples  appear  in  this  vol- 
ume. 

Curiously,  the  elm  when  growing  In  a  forest,  as  at  Danville  where 
there  is  the  only  true  elm  forest  we  have  noticed,  is  one  of  the  most  un- 
couth trees  possible.  In  such  a  situation  it  has  one  clumsy  branch,  like 
a  ship's  knee,  almost  at  the  very  top,  and  the  tree  stops  suddenly  without 
tapering  grace.  Wonderfully  rigid  braces  can  be  made,  however,  from 
the  wood  of  this  great  awkward  crotch. 

But  when,  as  is  usual,  the  elm  grows  by  itself,  or  at  least  so  that  one 
elm  dominates  others,  the  shapes  of  its  top,  while  many,  are  always  charm- 
ing, and  some  of  its  side  branches  are  most  interesting.  The  elm  often 
indulges  itself  by  sending  out  one  branch  .with  a  quick  turn  near  the 
trunk.  This  branch  is  called  "  the  friendly  crook  "  and  is  really  a  char- 
acteristic feature.  One  will  see  it  perhaps  once  in  fifty  trees,  but  when 
seen  again  it  is  so  like  the  previous  example  as  to  be  very  remarkable. 

The  single  elm  has  a  most  sentimental  appeal  when  it  reaches  out  over 
a  road  or  cottage  as  in  Bennington,  on  page  19,  or  in  Danville,  page  295. 
Sometimes  one  great  elm,  as  on  page  32,  at  Dorset,  dominates  the  region 
and  gives  an  effect  of  real  magnificence.  At  its  best  the  elm  has  a  majesty 
never  reached  by  any  other  northern  tree,  and  only  approached  by  the 
oak.  In  groups,  perhaps,  the  elm  gives  the  most  satisfying  effect. 
Standing  about  a  pool,  as  on  the  north  branch  of  the  Winooski,  above 
Montpelier,  on  page  36,  elms  are  a  continual  joy,  and  in  common  with 
other  trees,  they  surpass  gardens  in  the  joy  they  give,  because  they  are 
beautiful  all  the  year,  even  in  winter.  What  can  be  finer  than  their 
manner  of  draping  themselves  over  their  beloved  brooks,  as  at  the  top 
of  page  sSy  near  Tunbridge,  and  on  page  59  in  the  same  region?     Some- 


THE    TREES    OF    VERMONT  65 

times  they  open  like  a  window,  as  on  the  White  River,  page  39.  Near 
Brandon  they  line  the  road,  as  on  pages  43  and  88,  and  arch  the  brook, 
as  at  Forestvale,  page  123.  Again,  slender  and  straight,  as  on  the  Swift 
River,  pages  136  and  275,  with  little  spread  of  limb,  on  page  240,  they 
seem  specially  designed  to  wake  our  sense  of  beauty.  It  was  not  strange 
that  the  ancients  fell  into  the  worship  of  trees,  because  at  their  best  they 
possess  a  dignity,  power,  and  protective  character,  and  have  a  great  age, 
thus  enhancing  our  wonder  at  their  strength  and  beauty,  which  are  the 
wedded  features  of  a  true  divinity. 

Under  favorable  conditions,  the  elm  lives  two  hundred  years,  and  even 
fifty  more,  but  that  rarely.  Five  generations  is  not  a  very  long  life 
for  an  elm.  The  tree  plants  itself  for  the  most  part  by  the  fence  rows 
and  roadsides  where  the  blowing  seeds  lodge.  There  is  many  a  Ver- 
mont farm  with  a  half  dozen  fields  whose  old  and  even  obliterated  fences 
are  still  marked  out  by  rows  of  elms  irregularly  spaced.  There  they 
scatter  themselves  lavishly  over  the  pastures,  and  spring  up  at  odd  corners 
of  the  farm  buildings,  and  get  footholds  by  the  brook,  until  they  give  a 
decisive  character  to  the  farm,  and  decorate  as  no  landscape  architect  could 
possibly  do. 

It  is  a  tribute  to  the  farmer's  aesthetic  sense  that  he  permits  the  elm 
to  grow,  for  it  has  been  shown  that  he  loses  ten  dollars  a  year  for  every 
good  sized  elm  growing  by  a  plowed  field  under  intensive  culture.  The 
crop  growth  near  the  tree  is  atrophied.  Happily  uses  are  now  being 
found  for  elm  wood,  so  that  when  the  trees  are  felled  something  of  this 
loss  in  crops  may  be  counteracted.  While  in  the  days  of  "  The  One 
Hoss  Shay  " 

"  The  hubs  were  of  oak  from  the  settler's  elum, 
Alas  for  their  timbers,  they  couldn't  sell  'em," 

in  these  days  machinery  has  at  least  this  merit,  that  it  can  shape  the  elm 
for  many  desirable  purposes  and  consequently  has  found  a  use  for  its 
wood.     We  are  glad  to  believe,  however,  that  the  preservation  of  the  elm 


66  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

meant  a  positive  sense  of  joy  in  its  beauty  to  the  Vermont  farmer.  Long 
may  its  supple  branches  wave,  accentuating  the  fairest  lands  on  earth! 

But  the  elm  is  not  the  tree  that  has  brought  Vermont  most  fame  and 
most  riches.  That  distinction  belongs  to  the  maple.  It  is  the  sugar  from 
her  maples,  like  the  turkeys  from  her  fields,  that  has  attracted  attention 
from  afar.  We  presume  that  the  maples  of  Maine  and  Michigan  have 
sap  as  sweet  as  those  of  Vermont,  but  it  has  not  been  utilized  to  such  great 
extent  nor  been  so  widely  advertised. 

The  maple,  however,  has  made  an  irresistible  appeal  to  the  Vermont 
farmer  for  several  reasons  besides  its  sugar-bearing  characteristic.  He 
loves  to  surround  his  buildings  and  line  his  roadsides  with  these  trees  for 
their  shade  and  their  value  for  timber  or  firewood  when  old  age  comes. 
The  tree  begins  its  life  as  a  seedling  with  the  life  of  the  farmer's  boy 
and  reaches  old  age  with  him. 

Howells  mistakenly  assigns  the  gnarled  shape  of  maples  to  their  suc- 
cessive tappings  for  sap.  But  the  maple  is  usually  symmetrical  and  never 
seems  to  be  deformed  by  yielding  its  sweetness.  It  is  doubtful,  either, 
if  its  life  is  shattered  by  the  process,  as  the  amount  of  sap  taken  from  the 
tree  is  a  very  small  part  of  that  which  reaches  its  branches.  Maples  often 
assume  a  conical  shape,  very  striking,  especially  when  contrasted  with  the 
somewhat  irregular  growth  of  the  elm  and  the  always  irregular  shape 
of  the  birch.  A  maple  top  may  be  a  true  ball.  Its  shade  is  very  dense, 
and  its  leaves  in  spring  reach  amazingly  quick  maturity. 

The  rock,  or  sugar  maple,  which  forms  a  feature  of  farm  scenery  in 
Vermont,  has  a  near  brother  in  the  water,  or  swamp  maple,  the  coloring 
of  which  in  spring  is  fully  as  gorgeously  red  as  in  the  autumn.  The 
lower  portions  of  New  England  are  richer  in  the  water  maple  and  corre- 
spondingly poorer  in  the  sugar  maple.  Hard  and  soft  are  other  names 
applied  to  these  fine  trees,  the  sugar,  or  rock  maples,  being  hard,  and 
affording  an  intense  heat  as  fuel. 

During  a  recent  autumn  we  threaded  many  roads  of  Vermont,  reveling 
In  the  glory  of  color  on  the  hillsides.     And  now,  since  the  discovery  of 


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THE   TREES    OF   VERMONT  69 

coal  tar  dyes,  ,we  know  that  all  that  splendor  of  color  has  been  "  put 
down,"  as  we  say  of  preserved  foods,  every  autumn  since  the  maple  first 
grew.  Nothing  really  good  ever  perishes  —  some  theologian  said  it, 
and  now  some  scientist  endorses  him,  and  all  men  believe  it,  if  there  is 
good  in  them. 

It  is  odd  how  at  different  seasons  the  various  forms  of  vegetation  have 
their  "  innings  "  in  supplying  Vermont  with  beauty.  In  the  spring,  when 
apple  trees  flourish,  they  seem  to  fill  the  landscape,  so  that  one  notices 
little  else.  With  the  ripening  of  June,  the  various  delicate  gradations 
of  deciduous  foliage  express  themselves  with  an  almost  equal  emphasis, 
and  the  apple  tree  is  unnoticed.  With  autumn  the  splendor  of  color, 
absorbing  all  the  glory  of  the  spectrum,  announces  its  supremacy  over  the 
hills  J  and  in  winter  we  are  impressed  by  the  vast  number  and  predomi- 
nant dark  density  of  the  evergreens!  Alas  for  the  city  dweller,  a  volun- 
tary slave,  shut  away  from  the  empurpled  hills,  the  white  crests,  the 
joyous  march  of  the  equinoxes! 

For  in  winter,  too,  Vermont  is  beautiful.  A  man  whom  we  are  all 
glad  to  count  a  friend,  Mr.  Aithur  B.  Wilder,  of  Woodstock,  with  a  true 
artist's  soul  for  color,  has  for  many  years  specialized  in  the  study  of  Ver- 
mont's winter  moods,  and  preserved  them  for  us  on  canvas.  So  well  has 
he  learned  the  secrets  of  light  on  snow,  that  we  involuntarily  reach  out, 
in  summer,  to  plunge  our  hands  in  the  breaking  edge  of  his  snowbanks. 

But  anything  said  about  Vermont's  trees  would  be  one-sided  that  did  not 
give  a  word  in  praise  of  the  birch.  Increasingly,  as  one  journeys  north 
from  New  York  city,  he  finds  the  birch  becoming  larger,  more  various  in 
variety,  and  finally  the  tree  of  dainty  decorative  quality,  exquisite  winter 
and  summer.  This  tree  does  not  grow  in  the  south,  and  the  first  vision 
of  it  to  a  visitor  from  that  region  is  like  the  lifting  of  a  curtain  on  a  new 
world.  It  would  be  tedious,  as  it  is  unnecessary,  for  us  to  call  attention 
to  the  complex  forms  and  the  innumerable  beauties  of  the  birch  as  shown 
in  this  book.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  appeal  of  the  birch  was  the 
first  obvious  call  to  the  late-developing  sense  of  beauty  in  the  author. 


70  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

We  may  also  point  out  that  the  yellow  birch,  as  seen  so  often  by  the 
roadside  between  Woodstock  and  the  crest  as  one  goes  to  Rutland,  is  quite 
distinct  from  the  white  birch.  The  yellow  birch  has  a  bark  colored  like 
burnished  bronze.  The  tree  reaches  large  dimensions  on  the  mountain 
slopes,  perhaps  equalling  the  maple,  and  certainly  the  beech.  When  huge 
and  tall  it  wholly  loses  on  its  trunk  the  ordinary  birch  marks  and  becomes 
dark  and  ridged  by  roughened  breaks.  As  the  mahogany  of  New  Eng- 
land, it  does  duty  for  finishing  woods  and  for  furniture.  We  call  to 
mind  a  certain  plutocrat  in  New  York  who  showed  his  friends  through 
his  mansion  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  at  the  woodwork  and  the  phrase, 
"  Solid  mahogany,"  not  knowing  that  what  he  showed  was  birch.  Nor 
was  he  alone  in  his  delusion.  The  average  layman  in  woods  will  not 
distinguish  between  the  two,  especially  if  the  wood  is  from  the  great 
"  black  "  birch  just  mentioned.  This  wood  is  far  stronger  than  mahogany, 
but  lacks  the  fine,  narrow  markings  in  the  grain  which  is  characteristic 
of  mahogany.  We  are  bound  to  say,  however,  that  for  large  effect,  the 
birch  so  often  seen  in  modern  doors  is  rich  and  very  handsome.  How 
could  wood  from  a  tree  so  beautiful  be  anything  but  beautiful  itself! 

There  is  a  marked  distinction,  again,  between  the  canoe,  or  salmon-colored 
birch,  and  the  white  birch,  and  another  distinction  between  the  latter  and 
the  gray  birch.  By  all  odds  the  richest  wood  is  the  salmon  birch,  whose 
name  very  accurately  describes  its  color,  when  the  somewhat  lighter  tis- 
sue surface  is  rubbed  off  the  bark.  This  tree  was  found  indispensable 
to  our  eastern  Indians  for  the  making  of  canoes,  though  on  the  north 
Pacific  they  burned  and  hacked  out  the  great  cedars  into  boats  that  were 
almost  ships,  carrying  forty  passengers  each.  Perhaps  our  Indians  could 
have  found  some  substitute  for  birch  bark,  but  its  admirable  qualities  for 
their  canoes,  and  its  abundance,  induced  the  warrior  to  seek  no  further. 

We  found  many  years  since  a  birch  monarch  measuring  ten  feet  six 
inches  around  the  bole,  five  feet  from  the  ground,  that  is,  the  waist, 
where  the  white  ladies  of  the  wood,  as  well  as  those  of  the  town,  are 
measured.     This  tree  was  the  parent  of  those  that  appear  at  the  bottom 


THE    TREES    OF   VERMONT  73 

of  pages  60  and  164.  Such  virile  and  exuberant  trees  as  the  monarch 
are  called  "  seed  birches."  This  one  grew  on  a  slope  above  the  road. 
Some  fifty  years  ago  when  the  road  was  made,  in  the  old  fashion,  by 
plowing,  seeds  from  the  parent  tree  lodged  in  the  furrows  on  each  side 
of  the  road.  Hence  these  beautiful  children  of  a  beautiful  parent.  We 
found  afterward  a  birch  six  inches  larger  at  the  measuring  point,  five 
feet  from  the  ground,  than  this  "  monarch,"  but  this  later  find  perished 
recently. 

The  almost  purely  white  birch,  especially  when  growing  in  clustered 
form,  or  on  a  stream  bank,  is  startling  in  its  beauty.  Those  who  see  the 
birch  at  its  finest  development  never  forget  the  experience.  One  notices 
considerable  sections  of  Vermont  where  the  birch  never  grew,  or  has  been 
eliminated  from  the  list  of  trees.  There  are  other  districts  where  literally 
hundreds  of  thousands  line  the  hillsides.  Seen  at  a  distance  the  foliage 
largely  hides  the  beauty  of  the  trunks.  This  is  so  remarkable  that  the 
novice  may  pass  mountains  covered  with  birch  and  not  be  aware  of  the 
trees.  In  early  spring,  however,  they  are  most  striking  with  their  count- 
less white  boles  gleaming  in  a  brilliant  afternoon  light. 

A  single  birch  often  gives  tone  to  an  entire  landscape.  There  are 
abundant  such  instances  in  this  work.  One  should  understand  that  while 
the  birch  is  not  a  tree  of  long  life  the  northern  specimens  last  as  long 
as  maples.  The  grey  clusters  so  common  on  poor  land  in  southern  New 
England  are  frail  and  more  quickly  finish  their  career.  In  the  higher 
regions  birches  even  in  Connecticut  grow  to  dignified  proportions. 

A  traveller  is  often  distressed  by  the  great  woodpiles  of  birch  in  Ver- 
mont. One  feels  it  is  a  shame  that  so  much  beauty  should  perish.  But 
his  view  is  modified  when  he  learns  that  a  new  growth  speedily  follows 
the  cutting  of  the  old  and  that  these  beautiful  round  sticks,  which  he 
sees  in  piles,  are  probably  the  third  cutting  from  the  same  wood.  There 
is  no  danger,  therefore,  that  the  birch  may  perish  from  the  Vermont 
hills.  Its  growth  is  too  spontaneous  and  no  cold  stunts  it.  In  fact  it 
shares  with  the  evergreen  the  honor  of  growing  farther  north  than  other 


74  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

deciduous  trees.  No  blight  seems  to  attack  it  successfully.  The  bark 
has  a  bitter  quality  which  apparently  renders  it  immune  from  most  pests. 
Its  widespread  diffusion,  its  willingness  to  grow  under  hard  conditions, 
its  note  of  brilliance,  will  doubtless  enable  it  to  continue  indefinitely  the 
daintiest  feature  of  a  Vermont  landscape. 

The  beech  is  not  so  widely  diffused  among  us  as  in  England,  but  its 
sturdy  mottled  bole,  and  the  unexpected  twists  of  its  limbs,  no  two  alike, 
make  it  a  favorite  with  the  lover  of  trees  and  the  seeker  for  beauty.  Ver- 
mont is  richer  in  the  beech  than  any  other  New  England  state,  with  the 
possible  exception  of  Maine.  A  beech  tree  as  a  lawn  decoration  is  only 
seldom  seen  in  Vermont.  But  where  it  is  seen  its  branching  is  as  fasci- 
nating as  any  tree  growth  can  be.  A  beech  wood  in  sunshine,  when  the 
mottling  of  the  soil  by  flecks  of  brightness  matches  so  well  the  mottling 
of  the  tree  trunks,  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  visions  our  thought  can 
conceive.  A  wood  of  beech,  birch,  and  maple,  each  setting  off  the  other, 
has  a  varied  charm.  The  maple  leaf,  the  white  birch  trunk,  and  the 
contour  of  the  beech  are  the  three  fine  features. 

We  have  mentioned  the  trees  most  characteristic  of  Vermont.  Certain 
others  are  discussed  in  other  books  of  this  series.  We  have  not  taken  up 
evergreens  because  they  do  not  as  a  rule  grow  on  good  land.  While  of 
course  there  are  many  evergreens  in  Vermont,  the  state  is  not  noted  for 
its  soft  woods.  The  poplar  is  a  cousin,  and  often  near  companion  of  the 
birch  —  a  poor  relation.  The  oak  is  not  a  marked  feature  of  Vermont 
landscapes,  but  where  one  is  found  it  forms,  if  near  the  homestead,  an 
important  note,  owing  to  its  vast  endurance  and  rugged  outline. 


INTERESTING    TOWNS  77 

IX.     INTERESTING   TOWNS 

TF  we  were  asked  to  select  an  attractive  large  town  of  Vermont,  we 
-*-  should  perhaps  name  St.  Johnsbury.  This  community,  in  its  edifices, 
its  institutions,  and  its  inhabitants,  approaches  in  some  degree  toward  an 
ideal.  Named  by  Ethan  Allen,  developed  commercially  by  the  Fair- 
banks family,  a  fine  type  of  the  Yankee  manufacturer  of  the  days  before 
the  Civil  War,  the  village  of  St.  Johnsbury  gives  just  the  sort  of  environ- 
ment to  make  it  a  desirable  habitation.  The  broad  street,  where  many 
dwellings  stand  back  at  a  dignified  distance,  is  a  fine  example  of  comfort 
without  grandeur.  While  Vermont  is  too  young  to  possess  many  good 
old  houses,  there  is  one  on  this  street,  the  Paddock  Mansion,  which  gives 
tone  to  the  entire  town.  It  is  said  that  one  of  the  original  Fairbanks 
brothers  made  its  shutters.  On  page  72,  we  show  from  this  house  a 
charming  parlor,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  same  page  the  quaint  woodshed 
arches  and  an  old  "  shay  "  where  children  play.  Dear  old  "  Uncle  Sam  " 
Young  appears  on  page  116,  taking  his  leave  from  this  house  after  a  call 
on  Mrs.  Taylor,  the  memory  of  whose  unselfish  character  is  an  aroma 
sweetening  still  the  traditions  of  the  town. 

Besides  having  a  notable  mansion,  St.  Johnsbury  is  dignified  by  several 
stone  churches,  and,  through  the  munificence  of  the  Fairbanks  family, 
by  a  fine  edifice  combining  library,  art  gallery,  and  museum.  The  old 
academy  is  another  characteristic  feature  of  this  village,  being,  it  is  said, 
the  most  progressive,  most  prosperous,  best  attended,  and  for  college 
preparatory  work,  the  most  successful  institution  in  the  state.  The  rail- 
road and  its  concomitant  evils  are  kept  in  a  valley  below  the  wide  street. 
Fine  elms  abound.  The  maple  sugar  and  syrup  industry  is  largely  cen- 
tered here,  and  also  its  product  in  candles.  The  scale  works  stand  by 
themselves  on  a  lower  level  from  the  rest  of  the  town  so  as  not  to  intrude 
on  the  residences. 

St.  Johnsbury  Is  a  pleasant  center  for  touring,  either  into  the  Vermont 
hill  towns,  of  which  Danbury,  lying  next,  is  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful. 


78  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

or  toward  Lake  Willoughby,  a  drive  unsurpassed,  or  to  the  upper  Con- 
necticut and  the  fringes  of  the  White  Mountains. 

It  is  gratifying  to  find,  also,  in  this  town  a  good  and  leavening  number 
of  those  citizens  who  embody  the  much  maligned,  but  absolutely  neces- 
sary, New  England  ideals:  a  live  conscience,  an  active  inquiring  mind,  and 
a  vigorous  acceptance  of  the  work  and  problems  of  life  as  they  find  it. 
Perhaps  it  would  not  be  too  much  to  say  that  such  a  town  in  its  ideals  and 
its  practical  influences  means  more  to  America  than  many  other  American 
towns  of  ten  times  the  population.  Views  about  St.  Johnsbury  are  shown 
on  pages  235,  236,  268,  and  at  the  bottom  of  pages  SS  and  244. 

Among  the  resort  villages  of  Vermont,  where  the  market  interest  is 
greater  than  the  manufacturing,  we  may  name  Woodstock  as  a  typical 
community.  Besides  being  well  supplied  with  those  village  institutions 
which  make  life  attractive  within  its  confines,  it  has  a  beautiful  situation. 
It  lies  in  a  little  empire  of  its  own,  near  the  mountain  summits  and  on 
the  variously  appealing  Queechee,  pages  132,  163,  195,  240.  Here  was 
brought  to  its  fullest  development  the  merino  sheep,  the  breeding  of 
which  was  so  marked  an  enterprise  of  the  last  generation.  A  fine  type 
of  breeder,  and  a  deacon  of  the  Congregational  church,  told  me  with  a 
laugh  in  his  blue  eye  of  an  occasion  where  he  was  ofFered,  and  declined, 
for  a  merino  ram  a  price  running  into  five  figures.  "  It  was  a  case,"  said 
he,  "  of  two  fools  met.  " 

The  merino,  of  longer  pedigree  than  that  of  most  men,  excepting  those 
who  buy  their  lineage  from  delvers  in  old  archives,  was  doubtless  the 
breed  of  sheep  kept  by  Abraham.  The  beautifully  convoluted  horns,  the 
strongly  humped  nose,  the  luxuriant  wool,  the  involuted  folds  of  skin, 
like  the  carved  linen  fold  on  old  chests,  the  dignified  and  conceited  air 
of  an  old  merino,  are  enough  to  call  forth  a  smile  of  pleasure  from  the 
dullest  pessimist  and  to  satisfy  the  most  discriminating  artist.  On  page 
27  we  show  Woodstock  sheep,  in  whose  blood  is  enough  of  the  merino 
strain  to  refine  the  wool  without  losing  the  smoother  ordinary  contours  of 
English  sheep. 


INTERESTING    TOWNS  8i 

South  Woodstock  is  a  wee  village,  more  a  cross-roads,  whose  abandoned 
milldam,  with  its  mirror-like  surface  broken  by  the  stones,  made  a  delight- 
ful center  before  the  pole  evil  became  chronic.  It  was  more  than  a  score 
of  years  ago  that  the  scene  on  page  203  stopped  our  touring,  by  carriage, 
for  the  summer.  And  it  was  in  and  about  Woodstock  that  we  first  made 
studies  of  birches,  elms,  and  pastoral  scenes,  the  last  of  which,  on  page 
260,  called  "  Feminine  Curiosity,"  had  a  considerable  vogue  in  its  day.  The 
sprightly,  deer-like  alertness  of  Jersey  cows  was  caught  just  as  they  stopped 
to  inspect  us  in  their  path.  The  fine  shady  drives  of  the  upper  Quee- 
chee,  with  their  coppery  birches,  as  on  page  31  at  the  bottom  j  the  old 
covered  bridges  at  the  top  of  the  same  pagej  the  birches  on  page  28  j  the 
farm  bridge  arches  on  the  right  of  the  same  pagej  and  the  haying  scene 
at  the  bottom,  are  all  about  Woodstock,  as  are  also  the  pictures  of  the 
doorway  and  the  old  stagecoach  with  its  wedding  party,  on  page  35. 

In  Bennington-on-the-Hill  we  find  the  best  type,  perhaps,  of  the  little 
quiet  village,  no  longer  engaged  in  the  world's  strenuous  activities,  yet 
having  a  large  share  of  dwellers  who  have  made  their  mark  and  are  per- 
haps now  crystallizing  their  experiences. 

Windsor  claims  attention  from  its  age,  ,which,  while  not  hoary,  may 
seem  old  by  comparison  with  other  Vermont  towns.  Here  is  Constitution 
House,  an  edifice  less  important  architectually  than  as  the  birthplace  of  an 
independent  American  republic.  As  one  goes  up  the  hill  in  Windsor  he 
sees  large  square  houses  and  a  village  reminiscent  of  the  better  old  villages 
of  the  Bay  State.  Windsor  has  the  advantage  of  contiguity  to  the  fine 
reaches,  north  and  south,  of  the  Connecticut,  and  the  colony  of  artists  and 
authors  on  its  shores.  Also,  Windsor  being  large  enough  for  good  society 
and  near  enough  to  the  fine  hill  country  to  the  west,  is  a  type  somewhat 
like  St.  Johnsbury,  in  the  character  of  the  men  who  molded  it  and  in  the 
region  that  surrounds  it. 

Continuing  our  survey  of  the  towns  of  Vermont,  Brattleboro,  as  the 
successor  of  Fort  Dummer,  the  first  military  outpost  of  the  English  in 
the  state,  and  as  the  first  town  of  considerable  size  in  the  southeast,  claims 


82  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

our  interest.  It  was  for  four  years  the  residence  of  Rudyard  Kipling, 
whose  wife,  Caroline  Balestier,  was  born  here.  The  famous  "  Jungle 
Books"  were  begun  in  Brattleboro.  The  back  country  is  charming  al- 
ways, but  particularly  in  apple  blossom  time.  On  a  hill  three  miles  north 
of  the  town  Kipling  built  his  bungalow,  "  Naulahka,"  named  for  the  book 
written  in  collaboration  with  Wolcott  Balestier,  his  wife's  brother. 

Brandon,  many  miles  northwest  of  Brattleboro,  lies  on  a  plain.  It 
is  a  place  not  too  large  for  every  man  to  know  his  neighbor,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  centers  in  the  state.  It  is  prepared  to  make  a 
visitor's  stay  there  agreeable,  either  temporarily  or  permanently.  Its 
roads  following  Otter  Creek  are  fine,  from  the  number  of  fascinating 
view-points  they  afford.  One  can  approach  from  Brandon  by  short  and 
desirable  drives  the  lake  region  of  Dunmore,  with  its  innumerable  birches 
and  its  reflected  mountains.  Two  roads  from  Dunmore  to  the  north  are 
available  and  worth  following,  besides  the  roads  to  Rutland,  Bomoseen, 
and  that  directly  eastward  into  the  mountains. 

Manchester  is  the  center  of  an  increasingly  fashionable  and  wealthy 
set,  who  have  been  attracted  by  the  cool  airs  which  draw  through  its  high 
valley,  and  by  the  real  magnificence  of  its  mountains.  Equinox,  page  20, 
and  Dorset  Mountain,  a  little  to  the  north,  page  21,  are  each  so  fine  that 
they  give  one  more  than  his  share  of  beauty.  The  golf  links  lie  circuited 
by  views  of  these  and  other  peaks. 

The  stranger  in  Manchester  is  startled  by  the  white  marble  sidewalks, 
flanked  by  deep  green.  Marble  is  here  the  most  abundant  stone.  Dorset 
Mountain,  in  fact,  is  composed  of  marble.  Taken  in  conjunction  with 
the  town  of  Dorset  the  region  about  Manchester  provides  all  sorts  of  aids 
and  comforts  for  lovers  of  natural  beauty.  Dorset  village,  page  227, 
is  strategically  situated  for  catching  all  natural  delights,  as  it  lies  in  fair 
meadows  dominated  by  rounded  mountain  crests.  The  Battenkill,  which 
flows  through  Dorset,  is  a  stream  of  alluring  curves  and  cool  wooded 
intervals.  The  clouds  above  the  Battenkill  are  often  glorious.  The 
picture,  page  15,  taken  at  Arlington,  a  few  miles  below  Manchester,  gives 


*  i^ 


Il^TERESTING   TOWNS  85 

a  vague  idea  of  some  of  their  forms.    The  sheltered  portion  of  the  river 
is  shown  on  page  1 6. 

In  the  northern  part  of  Vermont  we  find  such  towns  as  St.  Albans, 
Swanton,  on  the  edge  of  Quebec,  and  Essex.,  As  one  goes  east,  with 
Lake  Champlain  to  the  west,  no  story  is  needed  to  call  attention  to  beauti- 
ful outlooks.  Of  course  if  one  wishes  to  harbor  in  cities,  Burlington 
in  the  north,  and  Rutland  in  the  center  of  the  state,  are  the  points  for 
excursions  everywhere. 

Burlington  has  been  called  the  wealthiest,  the  finest,  and  the  fairest 
city  of  its  size.  The  cliff  drives  near  the  city  afford  impressive  evidence 
that  one  need  not  go  to  the  sea  for  wild  and  bold  headlands,  for  Cham- 
plain  beats  vigorously  at  times  against  massive  crags,  as  on  pages  76  and 
255,  whose  beetling  brows  of  rock  advance  as  if  glorying  in  the  eternal 
conflict. 

In  the  drives  through  Rock  Park,  Burlington  possesses  a  truly  remark- 
able asset  of  rugged  ledges  and  splendid  old  forest  trees.  In  the  gorge 
of  the  Winooski,  page  207,  near  Burlington,  we  have  a  fine  series  of 
parallel  rock  walls  where  the  water  has  used  its  playthings,  the  small 
boulders,  to  grind  away  the  barriers.  In  fact  those  who  love  to  see  water 
at  work  of  its  own  free  will,  find  in  several  Vermont  streams  the  action 
going  on  whereby  huge  pot  holes  are  still  forming,  the  stones  whirling 
about  in  the  deep  kettles  of  solid  rock,  until  at  last  one  wall  approaches 
and  breaks  down  another  and  the  gorge  is  cut  deeper.  The  geologist  can 
find  matter  of  delight  here  in  the  Winooski  and  the  picture  lover  is  no 
less  taken  up  with  the  fantastic  outlines,  the  seamed  walls,  the  dashing 
waters,  and  the  changeful  color. 

Other  notable  places  in  Vermont  are  Middlebury  and  Northfield,  types 
of  those  American  villages  which  rejoice  in  making  homes  for  smaller 
colleges  with  the  superior  advantages  of  intimate  relations  impossible  in 
universities.  Bellows  Falls,  in  the  township  of  Rockingham,  surrounded 
by  a  country  of  rolling  contours  where  hill  farms  are  picturesque  to  a 
degree,   is   itself   busy   with    manufacturing   interests.     In    Rockingham 


86  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

Center  we  find  an  historical  old  place  of  worship,  the  "  meeting  house," 
two  stories  high,  with  many  windows  each  containing  forty  lights.  West 
of  Bellows  Falls  is  the  fair  village  of  Saxtons  River  with  its  academy, 
while  to  the  north  lie  White  River  Junction  and  Hartford,  the  latter  an 
excellent  example  of  a  town  of  old  traditions  and  well-kept  lawns. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  mention  all  the  little  centers  of  delight  in 
Vermont,  and  even  if  this  small  book  were  expanded  to  many  volumes  one 
could  scarcely  stand  at  all  the  angles  of  affection  from  which  the  reader 
has  already  surmised  the  author  has  scanned  this  state.  But  at  least  two 
towns,  Montpelier  and  Waterbury,  may  be  coupled  to  illustrate  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  river  banks. 

Montpelier  impresses  one  as  having  an  extraordinary  number  of  solid 
edifices  in  proportion  to  its  size.  This  may  arise  partly  from  the  wealth 
that  has  been  gathered  here  as  the  home  town  of  insurance  companies  j 
partly  because  it  is  the  capital  of  the  state  j  partly  owing  to  the  character 
of  its  settlers.  Montpelier's  State  House  looks  out  on  grounds  as  good 
in  their  way  as  one  could  wish.  The  Winooski  is  so  beautiful,  as  soon  as 
its  waters  are  freed  from  the  business  district,  as  to  be  a  type  of  all  that 
is  best  in  a  small  river.  It  flows  as  if  designed  expressly  to  elicit  our 
admiration  (page  i68),  and  as  one  follows  its  north  branch  there  are  an 
equal  number  of  graces  which  call  for  a  long  pause  at  every  turn  and 
every  crest  of  the  road.  On  page  36  is  shown  a  pool  with  elms.  Page 
52  gives  us  another  pool,  with  forest  trees  and  an  overflowing  cupj  also 
a  glimpse  of  Barre  birches;  and  a  curve  of  the  North  Branch  of  the 
Winooski.  We  show  additional  scenes  near  Montpelier  on  pages  64, 
203,  204,  215,  216,  248  and  291.  There  is  a  by-road  from  Montpelier  to 
Middlesex  which  is  beautiful  in  summer,  but  exquisite  in  autumn.  Some 
of  the  views  of  landscape  and  river  just  mentioned  are  found  on  that  road. 

The  main  road  passing  through  Middlesex  to  Waterbury  abounds  in 
interest.  The  river  at  Middlesex,  as  shown  at  the  top  of  page  80,  has 
cut  its  way  deeply  through  the  rocks  and  forms  here  a  romantic  glen 
with  the  mountains  framed  in  the  center.     It  was  a  rough  passage  to  the 


\<'^   "  ^.i 


.4^ 


^^ 


INTERESTING    TOWNS  89 

bottom  of  the  glen,  but  it  was  no  small  joy  to  get  a  standpoint  on  one  of 
the  jagged  rocks  in  the  midst  of  the  boiling  torrent  and  answer  the  wild 
challenge  of  its  roar. 

One  can  make  Waterbury  a  headquarters  for  wanderings  all  the  way 
from  Middlesex  to  Essex.  On  pages  223,  251  at  the  bottom,  47,  48, 
S6  and  64,  are  some  reminiscences  of  such  journeys.  The  trip  to  Stowe 
on  the  way  to  Mt.  Mansfield,  may  also  come  in  appropriately  from 
Waterbury.  At  Stowe  we  meet  as  we  enter  the  town  a  sign:  "  Go  slow, 
or  settle."  The  period  after  "  settle  "  is  almost  as  large  as  the  imprint 
of  a  man's  fist,  and  was  doubtless  intended  to  suggest  one.  The  laconic 
Vermonter  has  furnished  the  tourist  a  good  laugh  here,  that  is,  if  the 
tourist  is  not  in  a  hurry! 

On  our  first  journey  to  Mt.  Mansfield  to  spend  a  hot  Fourth  of  July 
we  reached  the  foot  only  to  find  a  sign  on  the  mountain  road,  "  Auto- 
mobiles not  admitted."  That  rule  has  now  been  abolished,  owing  to  the 
improvement  of  the  road. 

West  of  Waterbury  are  beautiful  farms,  and  such  cloud  effects  above 
the  Winooski  that  painters  as  yet  have  failed  to  transfer  them  to  canvas. 
At  Bolton  there  are  many  points  of  vantage  to  detain  one,  the  gorge  of  the 
Winooski  continuing  to  that  town.  A  swing  south  to  Huntington  from 
the  road  shows  the  little  tributary  stream  cutting  its  tortuous  and  pictur- 
esque course  seaward. 

One  finds  much  about  Ludlow,  in  passing  over  the  main  range,  that 
is  worthy  of  study.  On  page  1 76  is  a  sketch  not  far  west  of  Ludlow,  and 
at  Chester,  a  winning  village,  one  gets,  as  on  pages  247  and  275,  fine 
specimens  of  snug  farmhouses.  Some  are  set  near  Swift  River,  others 
by  little  ponds  formed  by  dams.  We  are  sorry  to  find  the  word  "  pond," 
which  was  ever  in  the  mouth  of  the  past  generation,  giving  way  to  "  lake." 
It  came  to  be  thought  rather  countrified  to  say  "  pond."  But  the  word 
is  a  good  one,  and  ought  to  be  revived.  At  the  bottom  of  page  44  one 
sees  what  roadside  birches  can  do  for  a  farmstead  setting.  At  Cuttings- 
ville,  and  near  it,  are  remarkably  good  apple  tree  settings,  as  on  page  1 24. 


90  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

When  an  old  house,  possibly  abandoned,  as  on  pages  91  and  128,  is 
properly  surrounded  by  apple  and  lilac  bloom,  one  wishes  nothing  but 
to  "  move  in,"  whatever  the  condition  of  the  roof.  Looking  into  a  cozy 
homestead,  across  the  water,  on  page  92,  one  sees  what  natural  advan- 
tages the  dweller  there  has  used.  Looking  out  from  a  cottage  door,  in 
the  other  picture  on  that  page,  what  could  satisfy  us  more  than  the  picket 
fence,  the  corner  of  the  garden,  and  the  wealth  of  bloom  on  the  old 
apple  tree?  How  much  better  than  any  city  dwelling  is  such  a  one  as 
this! 


X.     CITY   AND    COUNTRY 

WHEN  the  wrongs  of  the  world  are  righted  it  will  come  about, 
largely,  by  perception  of  what  is  truly  excellent,  on  the  part  of 
the  average  man.  For  instance,  the  family  now  living  precariously  in 
pinched  quarters  in  a  city  flat  will  see  and  know  at  their  worth  the  hundred 
thousand  unoccupied  sites  in  Vermont,  where  one  may  live  in  the  presence 
of  mountains,  with  the  grace  of  trees  j  where  air  and  water  are  freej  where 
the  earth  is  bountiful  to  the  diligent,  and  where  every  family  may  have 
individuality. 

The  old  English  habit  of  naming  a  man  from  his  acres,  gave  him  a  dis- 
tinction. He  escaped  that  sameness  which  marks  so  many  town  dwellers, 
who  so  far  as  any  individuality  is  concerned  may  as  well  be  desig- 
nated by  numbers,  like  convicts.  Are  these  city  dwellers  not  convicts? 
Are  they  not  "  cabined,  cribbed,  confined  "  ?  Twenty-four  hours  strike 
by  the  tyrants  of  transportation  would  bring  each  of  these  city  dwellers 
to  the  immediate  danger  of  starvation.  Life  is  most  undignified  when 
it  possesses  no  reserves.  Like  the  multitude  of  Rome  who  cried  for  bread 
and  the  circus,  our  metropolitan  populations  are  fast  reaching  a  condition 
in  which  the  theatre  and  the  bakery  will  mark  the  outward  limit  of  their 
interests. 


CITY    AND    COUNTRY  93 

It  requires,  measured  in  dollars,  at  least  a  hundred  times  as  much  in 
town  as  in  country,  to  secure  reasonable  immunity  from  those  things  which 
press  upon  our  human  nature  and  deprive  it  of  dignity,  power,  and  poise. 
Cattle  cars  are  not  as  subversive  of  decency  to  their  occupants  as  are  the 
subways  and  elevated  ways  of  our  cities  to  their  human  freight.  As  a 
broad  principle,  whenever  men  swarm  so  as  to  need  to  live  and  move  in 
strata,  one  above  another,  it  is  time  to  get  out  on  God's  fair  earth.  The 
crowded  populations  of  European  slums  come  to  America,  and  as  a  rule 
seek  out  an  American  slum  as  like  that  they  have  left  as  possible.  They 
have  been  caught  by  the  name  America,  where  the  name  connotes  nothing 
to  them  but  plenty.  They  do  not  know  that  the  plenty  is  in  lands  and 
room.  A  ghetto  is  always  a  ghetto,  on  whatever  continent.  And  it  is 
always  a  public  shame.  When  by  municipal  regulation  a  room  must  con- 
tain only  so  many  inhabitants,  the  law  does  not  go  deep  enough.  Intel- 
ligently and  faithfully  enforced  the  law  would  give  these  poor  people 
a  chance  of  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  in  the  country.  The 
gregarious  instinct,  bred  by  the  experience  of  countless  generations  dwell- 
ing in  hovels  under  castle  walls,  as  closely  as  possible,  must  be  bred  out 
from  men's  constitutions  before  they  can  really  be  men. 

The  fine  specimens  of  manhood  in  Europe,  bred  during  the  Roman 
day,  in  Germany  and  on  the  Danube,  had  the  love  of  country  life  bred  in 
the  bone.  An  urban  population  can  never  be  physically  fine,  unless  every 
family  has  at  least  a  detached  homestead,  an  idealistic  condition  never 
attained  in  towns  exceeding  the  village  size. 

There  is  at  present  a  broadly  organized  effort  to  give  the  children  of 
the  poor  in  cities  a  little  breath  of  country  air,  annually.  Is  this  a  kind- 
ness? It  is  meant  to  be.  But  the  act  is  not  based  on  a  wise  philosophy. 
It  confesses  too  much  and  too  little.  The  propaganda  to  get  children  into 
the  country  for  the  summer,  if  it  is  a  logical  movement,  rests  on  the  fact 
that  the  country  is  better  for  the  children,  But  if  better  for  two  weeks, 
why  not  for  four?  Why  not  for  fourteen?  Why  not  for  fifty-two 
weeks?     The  children  are  needed  in  the  country.     They  are  not  needed 


94  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

in  the  town.  They  can  thrive  and  grow  up  to  good  citizenship  in  the 
country,  a  thing  almost  impossible  in  town. 

What  we  need  is  effort  on  the  part  of  everybody  to  get  where  bread 
and  clothing  and  shelter  and  a  proper  education  can  be  commanded  by 
the  efforts  of  every  family  for  itself.  A  good  education  is  impossible  in 
town.  There  is  never  room  enough  for  the  pupils  and  they  must  learn 
exclusively  out  of  books,  or  dummy  models  of  realities. 

The  trend  of  sentiment  is  toward  the  establishment  of  morfe  city  parks. 
But  always  the  park  is  far  from  where  the  poor  live.  It  always  will  be. 
The  buying  up  every  other  block  in  a  city  and  making  it  public  land  would 
be  a  burden  no  city  could  bear.  Americans  are  often  afraid  of  facts. 
But  the  fact  is  that  the  street  is  the  playground  of  the  vast  majority  of 
city  children.  Modern  conditions  make  a  parent  who  permits  a  child  to 
play  in  the  street,  a  constructive  murderer.  To  confine  the  child  to  the 
festeringly  crowded  dwelling  would  make  the  parent  still  more  a  mur- 
derer, and  there  you  have  it.  There  is  only  one  answer  to  the  problem. 
That  answer  is,  the  country  for  the  entire  year.  It  is  those  who  are  selfish, 
or  ignorant,  who  huddle  in  crowded  tenements.  They  love  the  city  be- 
cause they  were  bred  to  it.  They  are  unhappy  out  of  a  crowd.  A  person  was 
telling  the  author  of  his  cousin,  who  went  from  the  East  Side  in  New  York 
to  visit  his  relatives  in  the  correspondingly  congested  district  in  Boston. 
Asked  how  the  visit  was  enjoyed  my  interlocutor  replied,  "  Oh!  he  didn't 
like  Boston.  Too  lonesome."  This  was  equivalent  to  saying  that  there 
was  only  one  spot  on  earth  sufficiently  crowded  to  enable  him  to  feel 
happy  and  to  feel  at  home,  for  the  district  referred  to  in  New  York  is 
supposed  to  be  the  most  crowded  of  human  habitations! 

It  is  the  imperative  duty  of  all  governments  to  see  that  the  people 
have  a  chance  of  life.  It  is  puerile  to  say  that  the  death  rate  among  city 
children  is  less  than  that  in  the  country.  No  sane  person  can  suppose  that 
the  torrid,  airless  conditions  of  the  brick  hives  of  a  city  can  be  as  good 
for  children  as  the  country.  If  the  city  is  so  good  for  them,  why 
plead  for  a  breath  of  country  air,  to  save  their  lives?     This  reasoning  runs 


CITY    AND    COUNTRY  97 

in  a  circle  and  is  based  on  a  narrow  generalization.  Character,  manliness, 
independence,  capacity,  a  habit  of  thought,  all  are  encouraged  by  country 
life. 

Vermont  is  the  nearest  rural  state  to  the  great  cities.  It  offers  something 
for  people  of  every  condition.  We  remember  some  years  since  of  a 
farm  of  a  hundred  acres,  with  comfortable  house,  good  barns  and  other 
buildings,  a  little  orchard,  a  sufficient  meadow,  pasture,  and  wood  lot,  on 
a  good  road,  only  three  miles  from  Woodstock,  being  offered  for  five 
hundred  dollars.  Conditions  have  now  changed.  The  value  of  money 
has  been  cut  in  two,  and  the  value  of  farms  has  doubled  so  that  three, 
perhaps  four,  times  as  many  dollars  might  now  be  required  to  secure 
a  similar  independence.  But  so  far  as  the  capacity  of  every  family  in 
America  to  secure  a  dignified  independence  is  concerned,  it  is  being  demon- 
strated every  day  that  the  thing  is  possible,  and  possible  without  enduring 
any  conditions  to  reach  the  desired  estate,  which  are  not  far  less  onerous 
than  are  endured  every  day  by  the  poor  in  cities. 

The  funds  now  expended  to  take  children  back  to  town  should  be  ex- 
pended in  getting  their  parents  settled  in  the  country.  No  man  has  a 
right  to  live  in  a  city  who  cannot  there  secure  a  fair  chance  for  his  children. 
That  is  a  good  American  proposition,  and  tested  by  it  and  following  on 
it  there  would  be  the  greatest  exodus  in  human  history. 

At  present  the  immigrant,  if  he  intends  going  onto  the  land,  is  often 
hustled  out  to  the  barren  side  of  the  prairie  states  beyond  the  sufficient 
rain  belt.  Dumped  on  a  desert,  the  immigrant  is  entirely  dependent  on 
the  railway  to  bring  him,  from  long  distances,  at  great  prices,  timber  for 
a  shelter.  The  consequence  is  the  immigrant  digs  into  the  ground  and 
becomes  a  cave  man,  living  in  a  sod  house,  nay,  worse  than  a  cave  man,  for 
he  had  solid  walls,  impregnable  against  the  tempest.  The  immigrant,  who 
going  into  the  west  must  be  a  capitalist,  must  buy  every  necessity  of  human 
life  from  a  distance.  Or  if  he  purchases  the  fine  acres  of  Iowa  or  Illinois 
he  will  find  their  price  ten  times  as  much  as  in  Vermont.  And  in  the 
West  he  will  live  without  that  variety  which  gives  life  its  zest  —  without 


98  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

hills,  without  stone  for  his  roads,  without  the  charm  and  wealth  of  shade 
trees  or  forest. 

It  has  been  for  long  a  jest  to  play  upon  the  hardships  of  those  who  live 
on  rocky  acres.  Men,  however,  go  to  Florida  and  actually  blast  by  dyna- 
mite a  hole  in  the  stone  where  they  may  plant  a  grapefruit!  Is  it  neces- 
sary for  any  Vermont  farmer  to  blast  a  hole  for  an  apple  tree?  Besides, 
as  the  finest,  and  ultimately  the  only  valuable  crop  is  men,  Vermont  raises 
more  men  to  the  square  mile,  who  count  in  the  energy  and  the  worth  of 
the  state,  than  a  whole  county  in  Florida.  However  well  men  may  start 
in  the  tropics  or  semi-tropics,  the  second  generation  is  of  small  account, 
if  they  belong  to  the  northern  European  races. 

But  is  Vermont  stony?  There  are  many  thousands  of  acres,  in  Ver- 
mont, without  stone  enough  to  build  a  wall  around  them.  As  the  hill 
farms  go  there  is  almost  always  enough  land  free  from  stones  to  make 
a  well  balanced  farm.  The  stony  part  left  to  pasture  and  forest  is  all 
the  better  for  its  stones.  An  acre  of  good  land,  near  American  villages 
ruled  by  American  traditions,  is  worth  a  township  in  parts  of  America  better 
unnamed. 

The  plain  fact  is,  the  finest  parts  of  America  for  homes,  for  rearing 
men  have  been  overlooked  in  the  senseless  rush  to  the  West,  fostered  by 
paid  immigration  bureaus.  New  England,  from  the  farmer's  standpoint, 
or  from  the  outlook  of  the  man  who  thinks  of  character  and  culture,  is 
the  least  appreciated  part  of  America. 

In  making  the  bald  statement  that  a  good  education  can  be  obtained 
only  in  the  country,  we  use  the  term  education  in  the  broadest  sense. 

The  greatest  American  name  of  our  day,  Roosevelt,  may  be  thought 
to  disprove  our  statement.  But  the  fact  that  he  was  born  in  New  York 
City,  when  considered  in  relation  to  his  education,  only  emphasizes  our 
statement.  For  the  frail  child  was  for  long  periods  taken  to  the  country 
place  on  Long  Island,  and  his  later  years  on  the  plains  not  only  gave  him 
strength,  but  an  insight  into  practical  affairs  and  a  knowledge  and  love 
of  nature.    Thus  the  greatest  figure  in  recent  history  was  an  outdoor  man. 


CITY    AND    COUNTRY  lOi 

If  the  score  of  successful  city  men  is  tallied,  it  will  appear  that  great 
numbers  —  we  believe  a  good  majority  —  were  country  bred.  Our  urban 
life  is  either  hectic  or  narrow  or  debilitating.  Only  strong  men  can 
stand  it,  and  the  proportion  of  those  that  go  under  in  the  nervous  strain 
is  large.  A  constant  influx  of  country  life  is  required.  It  is  common  to 
point  to  the  "  unsuccessful  "  rural  citizen.  Even  from  the  standpoint  of 
financial  success,  the  country  man  fails  less  often  than  the  city  man,  whose 
business  ventures,  as  recorded  by  financial  rating,  fail  nine  times  out  of 
ten. 

New  York,  or  at  least  the  cities,  are  regarded  as  the  literary  centers. 
But  while  literary  workers  sometimes  live  in  towns,  we  often  find  they 
were  born  in  the  country.  In  the  eighteenth  century  there  were  no 
cities,  in  the  modern  sense.  In  the  nineteenth  century,  the  Cambridge 
authors,  like  Lowell  and  Longfellow,  lived  on  broad,  ample  grounds, 
really  in  the  country  though  in  town.  Cooper  lived  in  the  country.  So 
for  the  most  part  did  Irving.  Bryant's  love  for  the  country  is  well  known, 
and  he  was  not  only  born  in  the  remote  Berkshire  hills,  but  hastened  back 
to  them  as  soon  and  for  as  long  periods  as  possible.  The  great  names 
of  Concord  also  corroborate  the  truth  that  country  life  is  loved  by  literary 
people. 

An  education,  at  least  in  its  primary  stages,  in  the  country,  gives  an 
understanding  of  thingSy  whereas  in  the  city  it  gives  one  mostly  a  knowl- 
edge of  books.  For  many  studies,  like  botany,  zoology,  and  geology 
country  life  is  absolutely  required  for  any  proficiency.  The  overweening 
conceit  of  the  city  man,  which  appeared  up  to  a  recent  date  in  the  funny 
columns  and  comic  illustrations,  has  changed  of  late  to  a  better  apprecia- 
tion of  the  fact  that  the  country  man  knows  how  to  do  more  kinds  of  work 
than  his  city  brother.  A  man  in  town  learns  to  do  one  thing.  The 
farmer  learns  to  do  many.  He  must  be  a  good  merchant,  as  his  success 
depends  entirely  upon  good  buying  and  selling.  Inevitably,  if  he  has 
any  native  ability  he  sharpens  his  wits  by  the  process  of  disposing  of  his 
produce.     The  decision  as  to  what  he  shall  plant,  what  stock  he  shall 


TTNIVERPT-^Y  O^  C  t  T^ORNIA 
SANTA  BiVPwB/iJRA 


I02  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

keep,  and  when  to  dispose  of  it  makes  him,  at  least  in  these  matters,  a  stu- 
dent of  men  and  things.  It  is  true  he  may  go  to  bed  early,  but  he  has 
done  hours  of  work  before  the  city  man  rises,  and  has  this  advantage,  that 
he  has  seen  the  world  at  the  most  beautiful  hours  of  the  day. 

Politically  he  has  learned  much,  also.  The  town  meeting,  concerning 
which  historians  have  said  so  much,  is  the  means  of  developing  political 
aptitude  in  the  farmer,  who  understands  and  follows  up  the  phases  of 
government  in  the  little.  It  is  getting  to  be  known  that  bad  federal 
government  springs  out  of  bad  local  government.  People  who  conduct 
their  local  politics  well,  are  those  most  worthy  to  conduct  larger  affairs. 

But  there  is  a  primeval,  deep-seated  reason  for  the  ownership  of  land. 
It  establishes  the  possessor  as  the  holder  from  the  Almighty  of  a  section 
of  His  earth.  The  ownership  of  land  has  ever  been  the  basis  of  nobility, 
as  recognized  by  sovereigns.  It  is  only  of  late  that  the  distiller  and  his 
ilk  have  been  elevated  to  the  peerage.  Even  now  in  England  the  ac- 
quirement of  a  landed  estate  is  the  first  requisite  to  give  dignity  to  a 
title.  And  when  all  else  has  been  said,  at  least  everybody  d^Dends  on  the 
farmer.  He  holds  the  situation  in  his  hands,  as  appears  in  Russia, 
where  it  is  found  he  will  not  cultivate  land  if  the  produce  is  to  be  ravished 
away. 

The  reader  should  not  infer,  however,  that  the  author  imagines  no  good 
can  come  out  of  the  city.  The  city  is  a  necessary  evil,  and  the  master 
mind  in  banking,  trade,  and  government  is  compelled  to  work  from  the 
city  as  a  center.  But  more  and  more  that  master  mind  requires  the  tonic 
of  country  air,  and  the  rugged  independence  fostered  by  country  life. 
The  Saviour  of  mankind  loved  to  pass  often  through  the  country  and  con- 
sider the  lilies.  He  loved  the  mountains,  the  waters,  and  all  growing 
things  j  he  studied  the  sky  and  the  sea.  Particularly  in  the  last  work 
of  his  life  one  notices  that  he  ,went  from  Jerusalem  every  night  to  the 
little  village  of  Bethany.  One  of  the  finest  poems  ever  written  is 
Lanier's  "  Into  the  woods  my  Master  went."  It  is  worthy  of  being  en- 
grossed in  the  large,  to  hang  on  the  walls  of  every  farmer's  home.     It 


THE    BEAUTY    OF    A    CORNFIELD  105 

shows  very  sympathetically  the  soothing  and  tender  influences  of  country 
quiet. 

We  would  like  to  leave  this  aspect  of  our  subject  with  the  reflection 
that  God  made  the  country  and  enjoys  it  Himself,  and  that  any  proper 
religion  suggests  a  study  of  and  a  joy  in  what  is  made  beautiful  for  us. 
All  our  thoughts  should  be  shot  through  with  reverence  at  the  view  of  a 
sunset.  We  cannot  refrain  from  narrating  a  recent  experience.  Return- 
ing one  day  from  town  we  saw  in  the  west  a  thousand  mottled  clouds. 
They  began  to  extend  north  and  south  and  to  rise  toward  the  zenith. 
Their  color  was  delicate  rather  than  gaudy.  They  rose  steadily,  sym- 
metrically, until  they  covered  a  third  of  the  heavens.  Simultaneously 
my  companion  and  I  exclaimed:  "An  Archangel's  wings!  "  It  was  all 
so  noble  to  see,  so  soothing,  so  inspiring.  Certainly  life  seems  finer  in 
the  country  whether  it  is  so  or  not.  Scarcely  has  there  been  a  time 
when  it  has  not  appealed  to  the  poets,  from  that  unnamed  one  who  told 
of  man  in  his  first  garden,  to  the  latest  contributor  in  the  local  paper. 

The  day's  work  is  over.  The  waving  grain  grows  still.  The  hills  take 
on  a  darker  purple.  The  sky  grows  nearer.  The  call  of  the  whip- 
poor-will  comes  from  the  woodland  to  the  leeward.  A  delicate  soft  air 
envelops  all.  An  apple,  well  ripened,  falls  in  the  home  orchard.  The 
flash  of  a  swallow  noiselessly  sweeps  past  in  the  early  gloaming.  The 
world  is  seeking  to  forget  strife  and  to  listen  reverently.  "  When  twi- 
light lets  her  curtain  down  and  pins  it  with  a  star,"  we  see  in  the  country 
a  perfect  world. 


XI.    THE   BEAUTY   OF   A   CORNFIELD 

VERMONT  has  an  admirable  soil  for  corn,  and  no  finer  feature  of  its 
summer  landscape  could  appeal  to  us  than  a  cornfield,  well  kept.  As 
soon  as  its  waving  blades  cover  the  ground  in  the  latter  part  of  July, 
the  successive  beauties  of  the  corn  begin  to  entrance  us.    The  pollen  stalk 


io6  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

raises  its  multiple  cross  and  sheds  its  golden  dustj  the  silken  tassel  hangs 
daintily  from  the  ear  tipj  the  luscious  green  envelope,  leaf  after  leaf, 
folds  in  the  sweet  grains.  As  the  season  advances,  and  we  see  corn  in  the 
shock,  with  the  golden  squash  or  pumpkins  between  the  rows,  there  is  a 
new  appeal,  a  changed  beauty.  England  without  this  glory  of  growing 
corn,  lacks  much  in  inspiration  for  her  poets  and  painters.  We  await 
in  America  those  who  no  doubt  will  sing  with  finer  rapture  than  their 
predecessors  the  joy  of  the  cornfield. 

No  food,  in  a  growing  state,  could  be  more  fraught  with  beauty,  poetry, 
and  the  sense  of  plenty  than  the  corn.  The  hearts  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
were  lightened  when  first  they  heard  the  rustling  corn  and  sensed  their 
relief  from  want.  From  the  time  when  the  bobolink,  bubbling  over  with 
full-throated  melody,  accompanies  the  farmer's  boy  in  the  planting  of  the 
corn,  to  the  gathering  in,  on  the  great  barn  floor,  of  the  mellow  harvest, 
the  corn  supplies  us  with  a  sequence  of  imaginative  suggestions.  In  every 
stage  and  aspect  it  is  a  delight.  A  stroll  among  its  tall  rows  soothes 
our  nerves  better  than  the  poppy,  and  seeing  it  in  generous  autumn  we 
have  a  striking  symbol  of  natural  wealth  and  of  the  joyous  response  of 
the  earth  to  her  children.  Its  long  braids  of  seed  ears,  hanging  on  the 
gable  of  the  barn,  as  on  page  283,  are  at  once  a  decoration  and  a  prophecy. 

Why  have  not  painters  used  more  often  the  motive  of  a  cluster  of  corn 
ears?  In  both  their  ripened  and  their  green  state  they  are  beautiful. 
The  occasional  glimpse  of  white  kernels,  where  the  green  husk  has  par- 
tially uncovered  them,  is  not  surpassed  by  anything  in  nature. 

Students  of  corn  say  that  it  has  been  brought  to  its  present  state  from 
a  diminutive  nubbin  ear.  However  that  may  be,  we  know  that  it  re- 
sponds when  we  help  it  in  an  effort  to  reach  an  ideal  perfection.  By  the 
selection  of  the  plump  grains,  and  by  discarding  the  undeveloped  tip 
grains,  much  has  been  done  to  improve  the  fullness  and  weight  of  the 
corn  ear.  Furthermore,  by  recent  adoption  of  green  corn  silage  the 
growing  of  corn  has  been  much  increased.  As  America's  indigenous  con- 
tribution to  the  world's  food  store,  corn  has  a  patriotic  appeal  and  should 
be  a  state  symbol. 


THE    MOUNTAIN    TRAILS  109 

XII.    THE   MOUNTAIN  TRAILS 

^  I  ^HERE  is  an  association  in  Vermont  of  those  who  love  to  thread  the 
-■-  mountain  trails.  When,  in  this  age  of  improved  transportation,  we 
are  in  danger  of  forgetting  how  to  walk,  the  mountain  climber  has  a  dis- 
tinct mission  to  get  us  on  our  own  legs  again.  There  is  doubtless  a  seclu- 
sion and  an  uplift  in  standing  amidst  the  vast  boulders  of  the  glen  or  on 
the  tremendous  unbroken  ledges  of  the  upper  slopes  and  gazing  on  the 
world  below.  A  little  of  the  eagle  in  us  all  would  do  no  harm,  unless  we 
press  the  figure  too  far,  for  the  eagle  is  not  on  the  height  to  enjoy  the 
scenery. 

A  good  deal  has  been  done  in  Vermont  to  make  a  tramp  feasible  to 
the  loftier  or  more  beautiful  summits.  The  enjoyment  is  no  less  be- 
cause of  the  moderate  elevation  as  contrasted  with  the  higher  White 
Mountains  or  the  fearsome  white  slopes  of  the  Alps.  One  may  take 
along  a  guide,  or  adventure  alone,  and  by  the  carrying  of  a  modest-sized 
pack,  make  camp  when  night  comes.  A  camera  should  as  often  as  possible 
be  a  part  of  the  luggage.  Clouds  are  always  fine  when  seen  from  the 
mountains,  though  to  be  in  a  cloud  is  not  so  comfortable,  and  in  Vermont 
one  does  not  often  get  above  them. 

It  is  too  much  to  hope  from  our  human  nature  that  the  average  person 
will  become  fond  of  mountain  climbing.  That  is  one  of  the  joys  reserved 
for  the  discriminating  few.  But  in  time  we  shall  doubtless  get  some- 
what away  from  the  notion  that  scooting  along  the  main  road  is  seeing  the 
country.  He  who  merely  passes  through  takes  nothing  good  away  with 
him.  The  motorist  wants  to  move  on.  Nature  shows  her  fairest  phases 
to  the  lover  who  is  not  in  a  hurry.  A  gentleman  expressed  one  day  to 
the  author  his  feeling  that  Vermont  must  be  dull.  No,  the  State  is  not 
dull  3  it  is  the  people  who  fail  to  see  it  correctly.  The  best  aspects  of 
beauty  are  too  good  to  be  observable  to  many.  Crashing  brass  bands 
appeal  to  somej  the  distant  faint  harmonies  of  the  organ  to  others.    The 


no  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

world  is  many  sided.  He  who  looks  carefully  will  see  and  enjoy.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  throw  a  flash  light  from  a  war  ship  into  his  eyes.  Let 
those  go  their  way  to  whom  the  best  does  not  appeal.  Some  tread  on  lilies  j 
others  worship  God  in  themj  some  love  the  roarj  others  the  stillness. 
We  get  what  we  want. 

The  mountaineer  discovers  some  surprising  features  in  Vermont.  At 
the  summit  of  the  Bellows  Falls— Rutland  road  where  one  crosses  the 
mountain,  there  is  a  good  farm  with  its  orchard  (page  lOo).  There  are 
villages  above  2000  feet,  and  some  of  them  are  most  beautiful.  Killington 
Peak  is  more  pointed  and  striking  than  most  Vermont  mountains,  yet  high 
on  its  sides  the  grass  fields  grow,  and  higher  still  the  trees  persist.  Except 
on  the  very  summits  of  a  few  peaks  there  is  no  timber  line. 

The  most  surprising  vision  from  the  uplands  is  the  encroaching  tree 
growth  on  the  hill  farms.  One  ceases  to  fear  the  destruction  of  forests 
if  he  studies  a  mountain  region.  The  forests  may  be  destroyed  here  and 
there,  but  they  edge  out  again  and  cover  the  land.  Districts  where  once 
was  a  teeming  farm  population  are  sometimes  found  now  with  inhabited 
dwellings  few  and  far  between  j  for  even  in  Vermont,  though  perhaps  less 
there  than  elsewhere,  farms  have  been  abandoned.  This  natural  re- 
forestation of  the  land  is  not  altogether  a  misfortune,  as  the  mountain 
climber  may  detect.  Timber  being  so  necessary  it  is  well  that  it  asserts  its 
right  to  grow  in  these  remote  regions.  In  places,  as  in  one  mountain  town, 
where  there  are  not  enough  men  to  officer  a  town  meeting,  it  is  good 
economy  to  let  the  trees  have  possession. 


XIII.    THE   MARBLE   HILLS 

WE  have  mentioned  the  great  marble  reserves  about  Manchester.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  state,  at  Proctor  and  elsewhere,  the  marble 
mountains  more  largely  yield  their  store.  We  shall  never  forget  visiting  a 
quarry,  more  properly  a  mine,  of  pure  white  marble.     Its  vast  dome  was 


THE    GRANITE    MOUNTAINS  113 

unsupported  except  by  the  marble  arch  left  in  quarrying  beneath.  It  is 
an  odd  and  suggestive  turn  in  human  affairs  that  the  finest  quarries  of 
Italy  are  owned  by  Vermont  men,  who,  because  of  their  holdings  at  home 
and  abroad,  can  now  give  one  the  best  in  the  world  of  whatever  is  wanted 
in  marble.  It  is,  however,  a  still  more  marked  circumstance  that  marble 
is  never  used  in  domestic  architecture  in  the  state.  The  early  develop- 
ment of  America  called  for  wooden  houses,  as  wood  was  the  material 
waiting  for  use.  And  as  time  went  on  there  grew  up  a  popular  preju- 
dice against  stone  and  brick  on  account  of  the  dampness  of  dwellings  con- 
structed of  them.  Modern  methods,  however,  have  overcome  this 
fault,  and  we  may  hope  that  the  next  great  physical  development  of 
America  will  be  toward  permanence  and  taste  in  the  buildings  in  which 
men  live.  The  Vermonter  is  rich  in  clays,  ledge-washed  stone,  granite, 
and  marble.  No  part  of  the  world  is  better  supplied  with  the  materials 
for  a  beautiful  and  solid  architecture. 


XIV.    THE   GRANITE   MOUNTAINS 

\  S  Vermont  is  foremost  in  American  states  with  its  marble,  so  one  of 
•^  •*-  its  cities,  Barre,  claims  to  be  the  world's  most  important  granite 
center.  There  is  an  eternity  about  granite  which  appeals,  especially 
among  these  hills.  Granite  bears  the  shock  of  all  climates  and  suggests  a 
reposeful  strength  impossible  in  any  other  building  material.  Here  and 
there  in  Vermont  granite  dwellings  have  been  erected  from  irregularly 
shaped  stones  —  all  the  more  beautiful  because  not  hewn  to  formal 
courses.  We  have  even  seen  lately  some  stone  silos,  indicating  that 
thinking  men  will  at  last  adapt  themselves  to  their  environment. 


114  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

XV.    FOR   GOD   AND   NATIVE   LAND 

ON  page  12  is  the  church  at  Bennington,  and  beyond  it  is  the  monu- 
ment of  great  and  deserved  name.  The  church  has  a  beautiful 
lantern  and  is  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  State.  Its  interior  is  also  very 
good.  The  edifice,  standing  as  it  does  so  near  the  monument,  suggests 
the  intimate  connection  in  early  days  between  Church  and  State.  The 
white  spires  of  Vermont's  villages  stand  beautifully  outlined  against 
the  green  hills.  These  meeting-houses,  for  that  was  their  name,  often 
provided  for  the  town  meeting  and  other  public  gatherings.  It  meant 
that  our  fathers  felt  no  sense  of  incongruity  in  settling  their  affairs  of 
state  in  the  same  spot  where  their  religion  was  taught.  It  was  a  more 
rational  idea  than  that  which  later  crept  in,  that  the  house  of  God  is 
desecrated  by  political  concerns.  Our  fathers  began  to  govern  after  they 
had  prayed.  Their  surroundings  made  their  manner  dignified.  It  re- 
mained for  a  more  superficial  generation  to  count  political  things  extrane- 
ous to  religion.  Even  the  Romans  wedded  their  government  with  their 
religion,  and  in  their  earlier  development  there  was  no  distinction  be- 
tween serving  the  gods  and  serving  the  state. 


XVJ.  THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  RURAL  EAST 

ONE  can  tell  at  a  glance  whether  a  farm  is  real,  in  the  sense  of 
being  a  self-sustaining  enterprise,  or  whether  it  is  owned  by  a 
summer  resident.  Increasingly  our  Eastern  farms  are  going  into  the 
hands  of  those  who  play  with  them  rather  than  live  by  them.  This  is 
well  for  the  neighboring  farmer  in  that  it  furnishes  him  with  lucrative 
odd  jobs,  for  we  admit  that  the  city  buyer  does  not  stint  funds  in  the 
development  of  his  farming  hobby,  so  that  it  has  been  wittily  said  that 
the  difference  between  an  agriculturist  and  a  farmer  is,  that  the  one 


THE    FUTURE    OF    THE    RURAL    EAST  117 

puts  his  money  into  the  land  while  the  other  takes  his  money  out.  But 
in  the  broadest  sense,  it  is  a  misfortune  for  any  region  when  its  dominant 
owners  do  not  live  on  the  sod  and  by  it.  A  sturdier  independence  is  de- 
veloped by  the  farmer  who  must  do  things  for  himself  instead  of  being 
the  hired  man  of  an  absentee  landlord.  Some  striking  instances  of  this 
independence  have  come  under  the  author's  attention.  *In  one  case  the 
use  of  a  fine  farm  was  ofFered  free  to  any  one  who  would  pay  the  taxes. 
There  were  no  takers.  Yet  some  of  those  who  declined  to  work  free  acres 
were  ready  to  buy  them  and  work  them  also.  An  occasional  city  owner  may 
do  no  harm.  He  may  stimulate  the  breeding  of  fine  stock,  or  in  some 
manner  set  the  pace  in  a  department  of  farm  development.  Vermont 
has,  however,  always  stood  for  its  own  home-owned  acreage.  Mr. 
Vail,  whose  action  is  possibly  a  precursor  of  that  of  others,  mostly  spent 
his  week-ends  in  Northern  Vermont,  and  has  presented  to  the  State  his 
broad  lands  as  the  nucleus  of  an  agricultural  school.  He  did  much  for 
Vermont.  But  the  average  farmer,  whose  main  interests  are  in  his  land, 
will  do  more,  in  the  long  run,  than  the  amateur  farmer.  We  fear  the 
rural  East  will  gradually  be  bought  up  by  city  wealth.  Farm  land 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  a  great  city  is  already  marked  out  to  be  ex- 
ploited by  city  capital.  We  shall  have,  within  two  generations,  a  great 
Eastern  region,  such  as  the  district  within  thirty  miles  of  Boston  now  is, 
either  given  up  to  country  "  estates  "  or  turned  to  intensive  market  garden- 
ing. All  the  fine  sites  will  at  length  be  acquired,  and  the  physical  develop- 
ment of  the  East  will  go  apace.  But  whether  the  character  of  the  new 
population  will  be  equal  to  the  better  old  stock  will  depend  on  the  general 
moral  trend  of  the  age  before  us. 

The  English  tendency  just  now  is  toward  the  breaking  up  of  large 
estates.  We  may  hope  the  American  spirit  will  move  in  the  same 
direction.    Very  large  farms  are  still  rare.     May  they  continue  rare. 


ii8  VERMONT   BEAUTIFUL 

XVII.    QUAINT   AND   BEAUTIFUL  THINGS   IN 

VERMONT 

^  i^  HERE  is  an  amazingly  solid  bar-post  at  the  top  outside  corner 

-*-  of  page  132.  It  is  as  if  the  farmer  said  to  himself,  like  his  Yankee 
prototype,  "It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldn't  break  down.  "  He 
had  no  doubt  been  bothered  all  his  days  by  decaying  or  tottering  posts. 
So  he  spent  a  great  labor  in  cutting  out  the  holes  in  this  massive  stone. 
It  will  be  his  monument  long  after  the  stone  placed  over  him  in  the  ceme- 
tery has  fallen. 

On  the  same  page,  at  the  bottom  inside  corner,  is  a  long,  sheltered  ap- 
proach to  a  fine  homestead  in  Shelburne.  It  is  merely  a  sod  walk,  but 
the  effect  as  one  looks  deeply  in,  is  good,  and  the  fine  evergreens  are  a 
sure  protection  against  the  winter  storms.  On  the  other  side  the 
house  looks  out  on  a  fine  panorama  of  mountains,  Mansfield  and  Camel's 
Hump  among  them. 

The  birch  drive  on  the  same  page  is  the  beautiful  approach  to  the 
Robert  Lincoln  place  in  Manchester.  The  apple  orchard  is  in  Sherburne, 
the  town  where  the  fine  acres  of  the  Webb  place  are  situated. 

"  Village  Spires,"  page  135,  is  one  of  the  best  examples  of  the  Vermont 
village  as  seen  across  the  White  River  in  Royalton.  The  stream  along 
here  teems  with  beauty. 

The  "  Old  Red  School  House  "  appears  on  page  139.  It  is  on  the  so- 
called  Sandwich  Drive,  west  of  Manchester. 

"  Paradise  Valley  "  on  the  same  page  is  a  dear  little  river  scene,  with 
the  farmhouse  opposite,  on  the  Montpelier— Middlesex  road. 

At  the  side,  down  page  140,  where  two  ladies  in  similar  garb  greet  us, 
the  scene  is  in  Manchester.  Opposite  is  the  "  Day  in  June,"  the  back- 
ground being  the  fine  old  Governor  Smith  house  in  Vergennes.  The  lady 
wears  one  of  the  wedding  gowns  of  an  earlier  generation  of  residents. 
The  family,  whose  seat  is  now  St.  Albans,  still  continues  a  strong  social 
force  in  the  state. 


(T    ^J"*^ 


QUAINT    AND    BEAUTIFUL   THINGS    IN    VERMONT       121 

"  Wilburton  Slopes,"  a  sheep  pasture  at  Manchester,  on  page  172,  repre- 
sents what  is  being  done  in  sheep  raising  by  a  gentleman  who  is  developing 
an  ideal  farm,  where  there  are  pictures  in  every  field. 

Those  who  love  mountains  will  be  won  by  "  Ascutney  Meadows  "  at 
the  top  of  page  195.  There  had  been  a  very  heavy  rain,  which  gave 
us  a  chance,  before  the  water  drained  from  the  meadows,  to  secure  this 
view  of  Ascutney,  a  satisfactory  picture  of  which  is  difficult  to  obtain. 
Situated  near  Windsor  and  the  Cornish  colony,  and  on  the  way  to  Wood- 
stock, Ascutney  has  many  faithful  lovers.  It  is  the  dominant  peak  of  the 
region,  and  well  deserves  all  the  affection  it  has  gained. 

In  "  A  Fairlee  Shore,"  page  1 99,  we  have  the  water-side  birch  cluster 
in  perfection.  Fairlee  and  Thetford  in  their  names,  their  location  (heads 
in  the  hills  and  feet  laved  by  the  Connecticut),  and  their  people,  are 
among  the  most  delightful  country  towns  in  America.  Almost  too  small 
in  population  to  be  called  villages,  too  rich  in  fair  countrysides  to  allow 
us  to  escape  their  thrall,  every  memory  of  them  draws  us  back  to  their 
welcoming  hills. 

On  page  200  we  look  up  the  fair  stretch  of  the  Connecticut  at  Thetford, 
and  at  the  bottom  of  the  same  page  is  a  delightful  road  in  the  same  town. 

The  "  Faithful  Oxen,"  on  page  208,  is  the  only  picture  in  this  book 
which  the  author  did  not  make.  This  genial  pair,  friends  of  men,  had 
been  so  long  well-trained  companions,  that  they  could  be  driven  without 
a  yoke.  The  kind  gentleman  who  supplied  this  picture  is  lost  to  the 
author's  ken,  and  his  name  is  lost,  but  he  must  have  been  a  lover  of 
animals  and  must  have  enjoyed  his  work.  In  "Better  than  Mowing," 
page  220,  we  have  a  man  who,  tempted  by  the  leaping  trout,  has  stuck 
his  scythe  snath  in  the  soft  earth  and  yielded  to  the  lure  of  the  brook, 
Dorset  being  in  the  background. 


122  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

XVIII.    VERMONT   IN   WINTER 

TT7E  have  never  been  able  to  interest  the  public  in  winter  pictures. 
'  ^  This  is  inexplicable,  for  there  is  beauty  in  the  snow,  and  there 
has  come  to  be  a  fad  for  winter  sports.  Vermont  hotels  in  some  cases 
cater  to  the  love  for  sleighing,  skiing,  snowshoeing,  and  skating.  But 
it  is  no  proof  that  one  loves  the  winter  because  he  follows  this  fad. 
There  is,  however,  inherent  in  manly  natures,  a  love  of  battling  the  storm, 
and  among  such  natures  we  may  presume  there  are  an  elect  few  who  love 
winter  for  its  own  sake. 

The  curling  snow-fingers  that  depend  from  the  picket  fences,  the 
fantastic  shapes  assumed  by  the  blankets  of  snow  on  roofs,  the  evergreens 
in  their  striking  contrast,  green  against  the  white,  are  all  objects  fit  to 
claim  our  attention.  The  shapes  of  large  bodies  of  snow  are  also  arresting. 
Waves  of  snow,  from  the  crests  of  which  the  spindrift  flies,  resemble 
sea-waves  with  their  flying  spray.  We  see  fine  sand  under  the  influence 
of  the  wind  assuming  the  same  ribbed  forms  and  wavy  surfaces  as  the 
snow  fields.  In  places,  also,  the  snow  seems  to  copy  the  curdled  cloud 
forms  in  sky.  This  various  beauty  of  the  snow  lies  all  over  the  country- 
side, but  in  Vermont  the  hills  have  trebled  its  charm. 

Leaving  the  beauty  of  snow  in  the  large,  the  snowflakes  of  which  it  is 
composed  are  worthy  of  thoughtful  study.  They  have  recently  been 
investigated  with  great  care  and  somewhat  surprising  results.  Some 
patient  and  enthusiastic  student  has  photographed,  under  the  microscope, 
many  thousand  snowflakes.  Among  them  all  he  found  no  two  alike,  yet 
found  not  one  without  a  six-sided  symmetrical  crystallization.  These 
snowflakes,  magnified,  may  furnish  endless  beautiful  designs  for  em- 
broidery, inlay,  and  various  other  forms  of  decoration. 

The  variety  of  forms  of  snowflakes  is  nothing  short  of  a  marvel. 
It  would  be  perhaps  a  mad  reach  of  imagination  to  suggest  that  there  are 
no  snowflakes  that  duplicate  one  another  in  their  crystal  forms.  But  if  in 
several  thousand  there  are  no  duplicates,  mathematical  law  would  deduce 


THE    MAPLE    ORCHARD  125 

that  there  are  at  least  billions  of  regular  crystal  patterns!  When  we 
notice  the  human  poverty  of  mind  that  builds  rows  of  houses  all  alike, 
we  are  humbled  by  the  infinite  capacity  for  variety  inherent  in  nature. 

Among  these  numberless  snowflake  forms  there  is  not  one  that  is  not 
beautiful.  Nature  in  this  respect  never  fails.  The  frost  draftsman  is 
always  artistic,  always  fresh,  always  wonderful.  Many  of  the  forms 
would  make  exquisite  lace  patterns,  so  intricate  in  detail  that  one  would 
linger  long  in  admiration. 

And  if  nature  has  given  us  so  many  varied  forms  grouped  about  a 
six-sided,  crowded  crystal,  what  can  she  do  if  she  uses  all  the  possibilities 
in  the  mathematical  mystery  box?  In  the  summer  we  have  seen  so  much 
of  nature's  versatility  that  we  think  less  of  it  than  we  should.  But 
that  winter,  the  time  when  we  have  been  accustomed  to  think  of  the 
world  as  asleep,  has  a  greater  variety  than  summer  of  virile  forms  to 
feed  the  imagination,  is  a  distinct  surprise. 


XIX.    THE   MAPLE    ORCHARD 

TTTE  have  said  somewhere  in  this  book  that  the  typical  Vermont 
^  '  farm  has  its  maple  orchard.  And  the  farmer  cannot  make  too 
much  of  this  grove  of  trees.  Their  broad  branches  tell  the  passer-by  that 
his  land  is  good,  and  when  sugaring  time  comes  his  income  from  their 
sap  proves  in  a  financial  way  the  value  of  the  trees  to  his  farm. 

The  making  of  maple  sugar  has  come  to  be  a  symbol  of  Vermont  life. 
As  the  syrup  has  its  peculiar  delicious  flavor,  so  the  production  of  it  has 
given  flavor  to  all  recollections  of  the  state  that  produces  it.  But  in 
reality  sugaring  occupies  a  larger  place  in  sentiment  than  in  fact.  Never- 
theless, the  Vermonter  naturally  cherishes  the  tendency  of  the  newspapers 
to  illustrate  and  write  of  the  sugaring  season. 

There  is  much  that  is  really  picturesque  in  the  work  of  the  sugar 
orchard.    The  gathering  of  the  syrup,  the  watching  it  boil,  the  uncertain 


126  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

lights  at  night,  the  waiting  human  figures,  all  give  interest.  Sometimes 
animals,  too,  play  a  part.  The  yokes  of  beautiful  oxen  we  are  showing 
in  the  stream,  were  also  used  in  March  to  draw  the  sap  to  the  sugar  house 
to  which  previously  they  had  drawn  the  rough  wood  used  for  boiling 
the  sap. 

But  the  labor  of  making  sugar  is  very  severe,  and  continues  night  and 
day,  so  that  its  poetry  and  picturesqueness  are  not  felt  so  much  by  those 
who  do  the  work  as  by  those  who  look  on.  To  the  children,  however,  the 
farm  sugaring  time  is  the  delight  of  the  year. 


XX.    WAITING   FOR  THE   "AUTO"   TO   PASS 

ON  page  236  the  farmer,  more  than  eighty  years  old,  has  drawn  off 
to  one  side,  waiting  for  the  "  auto  "  to  pass.  The  old  and  the  new 
generations  have  clashed  very  sharply  in  our  age.  The  patient  oxen,  long 
the  willing  helpers  of  the  farmer,  useful  all  their  lives  and  useful  in 
their  deaths,  must  now  stand  one  side.  It  is  the  law  of  change.  The 
man  before  us  was  the  husband  of  the  woman  hand-carding  wool,  on 
page  244.    She,  too,  was  spinning  at  an  age  above  eighty  years. 

To  the  casual  thought  it  might  be  regarded  as  a  pity  for  these  old 
people  to  toil.  The  truth  is  they  were  very  well-to-do,  with  large  sums 
of  money  laid  away,  and  they  worked  because  thus  they  were  happier. 
It  is  only  the  sick  or  the  vacant  minded  who  deem  it  an  advantage  to  lay 
down  the  tasks  of  life  and  enter  homes  for  the  aged. 

Perhaps  the  "  auto  "  will  pass  for  good.  The  demand  for  fuel  in  all 
forms  is  beginning  to  sharpen  until  we  may  all  take  to  the  woods  and 
chop  our  own  and  let  the  "  auto  "  go.  The  sources  of  coal  and  oil  supply 
have  only  to  become  a  little  less,  and  civilization's  wheel  will  take  another 
turnj  the  rural  life  will  be  a  necessity,  and  oxen  will  come  back. 


:.^j 


'?j^^^^ 

ii 


S-r,. 


ft^r^^^^^P^M 


^t^...i^'  ^^ 


w^ 


'^^'J^Isk 


FOREST   THOUGHTS  129 

XXI.    SOME   COUNTRY   BEAUTIES 

OOME  one  has  said  that  the  young  of  every  animal  is  playful  and 
^^  alluring.  With  reservations  this  is  correct.  The  lamb  when  very  little 
is  nearly  the  most  awkward  shape  in  nature,  but  in  a  few  weeks  after 
birth  this  lamb  becomes  the  darling  of  the  children,  the  delight  of  every 
one,  and  the  despair  of  artists.  As  for  us,  we  could  never  escape  the  lure 
in  the  eyes  of  calves,  when,  as  on  page  243,  they  have  begun  "  to  take 
notice."  Always  eager,  like  children,  for  a  luncheon,  their  "  mealy 
noses  "  curled  as  they  follow  one,  always  capering  in  the  joy  of  young  life, 
they  tend  to  rejuvenate  anyone  who  comes  near  them.  And  who  ever 
saw  tiny  white  pigs  without  thinking  of  a  roll  of  satin?  Chickens  are  of 
course  the  adoration  of  children.  A  speckled  hen,  having  stolen  her  nest, 
came  out  strutting  one  morning,  every  feather  standing  out,  and  leading 
her  brood  of  twenty-two  fluffy  babies! 

Such  memories  color  child  life  and  redeem  it  from  dullness.  How 
much  superior  are  these  pets  to  the  teddy  bears  of  the  starved  child  imagi- 
nation of  cities! 


XXII.    FOREST  THOUGHTS 

ONE  might  suppose,  since  so  much  is  said  of  the  delights  and  the 
beauty  of  the  forest,  that  the  forest  would  be  chosen  as  man's  abode, 
at  least  in  some  climates.  But  we  believe  that  the  dwelling  of  the 
pygmies  in  the  African  forests  is  the  solitary  instance  of  human  beings 
choosing  to  live  among  trees. 

Forests  are  delightful  to  visit,  but  not  good  to  dwell  in.  Wherever 
forests  stand  they  invariably  mean  rainfall  j  hence  dampness.  It  follows 
that  there  are  periods  of  the  year  when  a  dwelling  in  a  forest  would  be 
very  detrimental  to  health.  In  the  working  out  of  living  conditions  in  the 
country,  the  dwelling  was  at  first  placed  in  a  small  clearing  which  grew 


130  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

larger  every  year.  The  settler  was  oppressed  by  trees.  He  thought  of 
them  as  something  to  get  rid  of,  like  weeds.  He  burned  them  in  masses. 
The  thought  of  shade  trees  came  later.  It  is  only  as  we  of  the  East 
find  the  primeval  forest  almost  annihilated  that  we  come  to  prize  it  and 
love  its  great  boles  as  they  appear  in  Danville  (page  268). 

There  is  a  strange  influence  that  comes  over  the  human  spirit  in  the 
dense  forest.  It  is  something  diflFerent  from  the  influence  of  the  ocean 
and  the  mountains.  It  is  different,  distinctly,  from  any  other  human 
experience. 

Bryant  has  said  much  to  us  of  this  and  analogous  subjects.  The  silences 
of  the  forest,  unbroken  except  for  the  soft  sighing  of  the  tree  tops,  is 
the  effect  most  marked.  One  would  suppose  the  silence  conducive  to  pro- 
found thought,  but  most  persons  in  such  solitudes  are  overwhelmed 
by  the  dignity  and  strength  of  the  great  trees  and  naturally  find  them- 
selves absorbed  in  individual  growths  rather  than  in  what  a  forest  may 
suggest  to  the  philosopher.  Trees  are  so  filling  to  the  eye,  the  nostrils, 
and  so  obvious  to  the  touch  that  the  lessons  of  the  forest  are  lost  in  the 
forest  itself. 

But  the  shady  drives  are  beautiful  and  are  sought  out  by  all  visitors 
to  the  country.  Such  drives  are  those  in  Colchester,  page  2245  about 
Lake  Willoughby,  page  23  ij  along  the  West  Branch  of  the  Deerfield, 
on  pages  204,  219,  223  j  or  in  Thetford,  page  200,  and  along  many 
other  roads  here  illustrated.  In  fact,  the  shady  spots  are,  in  a  hot  day, 
the  ones  chiefly  remembered.  They  form  the  most  obvious  features  of 
country  life  to  the  casual  guest.  In  these  shady  drives  the  country  may 
be  said  to  be  on  parade.  The  "  Golden  Forest,"  page  1595  ^^  ^  Marlboro 
Wood,"  page  I35j  a  pass  in  Wallingford,  page  127J  a  grassy  drive  among 
the  birches  at  the  Bluffs,  near  Newport,  page  ii6j  the  farm  road  heading 
page  47,  in  the  region  of  Tunbridgej  and  the  pass  of  Granville  Notch 
at  the  bottom  of  the  same  page,  are  instances  in  point. 

The  forest  is  pleasing  not  alone  from  the  trees  still  growing,  but  also 
from  those  that  are  crumbling  back  to  earth,  from  which  new  trees  arise. 


*«• 


-S'>^'*JF. 


¥:^A 


^:  J 


-memm 


XAJ&€r  / 


FOREST   THOUGHTS  133 

Of  course  the  geologist  explains  how  the  slow  process  went  forward,  of 
little  trees  getting  a  foothold,  and  the  passing  of  ages  creating  wood 
mold.  We  still  see  the  work  going  on,  particularly  as  where,  in  the 
higher  regions,  so  many  roots  are  reaching  down  between  rocks  to  obtain 
their  scant  supply  of  tree  food.  We  never  fail  to  be  astonished  when 
in  winter  we  observe  how  bare  of  earth  are  some  mountain  sides,  that  are 
so  completely  covered  with  trees  that  in  summer  we  see  no  trace  of  the 
rocks  beneath  the  foliage.  We  are  strikingly  reminded  that  the  trees 
really  live  largely  on  air. 

Trees,  of  course,  are  always  the  principal  objects  of  beauty  in  the  usual 
landscape.  Their  infinite  variety  of  leaf  and  of  habit  of  growth,  their 
terrible  fight  for  existence  in  the  storm  —  a  fight  which,  when  the  tree  is 
victorious,  only  makes  it  root  itself  more  broadly  —  these  are  aspects  that 
cannot  but  claim  our  interest. 

Living  things  are  supposed  to  be  more  lovable  than  inert  matter,  but 
there  are  those  who  love  trees  so  well  that  the  fall  of  a  tree  is  a  calamity. 
I  have  seen  a  sensible,  but  sensitive  woman,  burst  into  tears  as  one  of 
the  six-hundred-year-old  patriarchs  of  a  Washington  forest  was  felled. 
A  great  tree  is  a  landmark  for  miles  around,  and  in  England  as  well  as 
America,  a  huge  oak  got  itself  into  political  history.  The  writer  of 
"  Woodman,  spare  that  tree,"  struck  a  chord  to  which  most  hearts  echoed. 
Indeed,  one  would  feel  shame  were  it  not  so.  How  much  a  certain  tree, 
near  a  farmhouse,  means  to  a  farmer's  wife  if  she  still  lives  on  the  farm 
of  her  childhood!  It  was  her  shelter,  when  first  she  crawled  on  the  grass, 
and  it  will  droop  its  branches  over  her  dust  when  she  is  carried  from  her 
home  on  the  last  journey. 

The  old  elm  sometimes  supplied  a  crotch  through  which  the  well 
sweep  worked.  The  tree  was  the  first  object  distantly  seen,  as  one  re- 
turned over  the  hills  after  an  absence  from  home.  Its  little  unfolding 
leaf  marked  the  time  for  corn  planting.  In  the  long  summer  days  it 
supplied  the  much  loved  shade,  when  the  housewife  in  the  afternoon  could 
sit  at  her  work  beneath  it.     And  when  its  leaves  fell  and  gathered  into 


134  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

hollows,  her  laughing  children  waded  and  rolled  in  the  soft  mass.  Some- 
times the  oriole  had  her  hanging  nest  above,  sometimes  the  squirrels 
chased  one  another  across  the  limbs,  and  always,  in  every  phase  through 
the  livelong  year,  the  tree  had  its  message  and  supplied  some  gift  or 
grace  to  the  cottage  home.  There  are  today  leaders  of  the  nation  who 
would  prefer  an  hour  under  the  old  tree,  to  any  other  experience  now 
possible  to  them.  The  author  remembers  a  gentleman,  said  to  be  the 
most  successful  in  business  and  the  noblest  in  spirit  in  his  home  state.  He 
came  to  our  homestead  and  wandered  about  till  he  reached  the  back  porch 
beside  the  well  and  the  great  elm,  and  said,  "  Here  is  the  spot  where  I 
want  to  sit  for  two  hours!  "  We  are  all,  happily,  so  human,  and  are  all 
nearer  to  human  fellowship  when  under  a  tree  than  elsewhere! 


XXni.    WILD   FLOWERS   OF   VERMONT 

T  T  ERMONT  is  as  rich  in  wild  flowers  as  any  other  New  England 
^  state,  and  contains  the  varieties  commonly  found  in  our  northern 
climates.  We  write  of  flowers,  not  as  a  botanist,  however,  but  as  a  mere 
crude  layman,  who,  seeing  flowers  in  passing,  admires  them,  but  has  made 
no  scientific  study  of  habitat  and  forms. 

Early  in  the  year  the  most  noticeable  flower  in  Vermont,  as  elsewhere, 
is  the  dandelion.  It  grows  most  happily  near  where  the  human  foot  treads. 
It  loves  to  skirt  the  roadside  to  be  sure  we  see  it  when  we  go  by.  For 
it  is  not  a  retiring  blossom,  but  as  bold  as  its  namesake.  It  fills  some  fields 
with  color  to  the  exclusion  of  almost  everything  else.  Under  a  blooming 
apple  bough  a  carpet  of  dandelions  is  a  vision  worth  a  far  journey.  One 
thinks  amazedly  of  the  great  fields  of  cultivated  dandelions  while  untold 
millions  of  the  wild  ones  go  to  waste. 

The  dandelion  has  the  advantage  of  most  flowers  in  that  when  it  has 
gone  to  seed  it  has  a  delicate  beauty,  exceeding,  as  some  think,  its  earlier 
splendor.     It  is  as  if  it  repented  of  its  flamboyance,  and  in  its  old  age 


isl^^i 


dM:.'"^:   '"'"'''■ 


■:■■:    --^^ 


WILD    FLOWERS    OF   VERMONT  137 

grew  spiritual  and  ready  to  fly  away.  Certainly  one  who  should  see  only 
its  latest  development  would  never  suspect  that  this  feathery,  gossamer 
globe,  which  vanishes  at  a  puff,  had  begun  its  career  as  the  sturdiest  and 
least  sensitive  blossom  imaginable.  A  touch  of  dandelion  was  used  in  the 
home-brewed  wine  of  long  ago.  Its  flavor  was  as  delicate  to  the  taste 
as  the  spirituelle  seeds  to  the  eye. 

As  one  passes  along  the  highway  the  buttercup  Is  next  to  the  dandelion  in 
color  and  frequency,  perhaps.  If  weeds  are  flowers  out  of  place,  then 
there  are  plenty  of  such  weeds  in  Vermont.  We  used  to  be  assured  that 
the  buttercup  gave  the  color  to  the  butter,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  the 
cow  avoids  buttercups.  She  is  a  somewhat  dainty  feeder.  We  were 
also  told  that  if  holding  a  buttercup  under  the  chin  produced  a  yellow 
reflection  it  was  proof  that  one  liked  butter!  How  old,  we  wonder,  does 
a  child  need  to  be  to  detect  the  fallacies  presented  to  his  young  mind? 
Anyhow,  the  child  enjoys  the  fallacy  while  it  lasts. 

Growing  with  the  buttercup  one  notices  the  daisy,  that  beautiful  pest 
of  the  farmer.  Some  inventive  person  should  find  a  use  for  the  daisy; 
for,  such  is  human  nature,  after  a  traveler  has  seen  a  few  millions  of  them, 
he  seems  to  lose  interest  in  them.  Yet  they  tell  fortunes,  as  ever,  and, 
as  truly  as  the  buttercup,  can  reveal  our  taste.  The  great  yellow  oxeye 
forms  a  fine  foil  for  the  white  daisy.  And  as  both,  growing  together, 
mingle  in  the  grass,  they  are  fair  rivals  of  the  poppy  fields  of  California. 

Red  clover  is  the  sweetest,  the  most  homelike,  and  the  most  beautiful 
and  useful  of  all  flowers  of  the  field.  The  bees  revel  in  it  and  fertilize  it  j 
the  cows  find  it  delicious.  It  is  good  for  the  land,  good  in  the  bam, 
and  good  to  the  eye.  The  white  clover  appears  more  on  neglected  land, 
or  on  stretches  used  for  grazing.  But  clover  must  be  coaxed.  It  cannot 
hold  its  own  unaided  against  the  buttercup  and  daisy. 

The  occasional  fields  of  buckwheat  make  a  pretty  showing.  Their 
delicate  white  blossoms  send  forth  an  agreeable  odor,  and  the  humming 
of  the  bees  at  work  among  them  gives  promise  of  honey  and  delectable 
cakes  later  on.    A  field  of  buckwheat,  also,  by  the  close  growing  and  shade 


138  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

of  its  plants,  kills  out  weeds  and  gives  the  farmer  a  clear  ground  for 
his  next  year's  planting. 

The  pasture  flowers  are  not  at  all  unworthy  of  our  glances.  The  milk- 
weed, like  the  dandelion,  not  only  gives  joy  to  the  eye  but  also  to  the 
palate.  And  the  same  is  true  of  the  wild  mustard,  which  is  perfection 
as  "greens."  Wild  mustard  in  an  oat  field,  however,  is  no  such  joy, 
as  the  writer  once  learned  to  his  cost,  when  an  oat  harvest  became  so 
choked  and  dominated  by  the  plant  as  to  be  a  total  loss.  Another  pasture 
plant  that  cannot  be  passed  by  is  the  mullein.  It  dots  the  barren  fields 
and  grows  by  the  old  stone  walls  as  tall  and  stately  as  the  hollyhock. 
The  "  velvet  plant "  the  English  call  it,  and  cultivate  it  among  the  choice 
things  in  their  gardens,  where  growing  in  the  middle  of  a  bed  its  gives 
symmetry  to  its  surroundings. 

About  the  pools  and  along  the  brooks  the  iris  is  usually  very  abundant. 
It  is  allied  to  the  blue  flag,  though  "  The  Nomad,"  in  his  delightful  ex- 
cursions in  literature  and  among  flowers,  states  that  the  iris  and  the  flag 
are  distinct  species.  However  that  may  be,  this  flower,  sometimes  called 
"  The  poor-man's  orchid,"  has  a  grace  and  beauty  very  attractive.  The 
pickerel  weed  also  decorates  the  wet  margins,  and  the  arrow-head  lifts  its 
beautiful  wax-like  white  blossom  among  the  wet  grasses.  Growing  with 
great  luxuriance  by  the  water's  edge  and  by  damp  meadows  we  find  the 
elderberry  bush,  most  beautiful  when  its  white  clusters  hang  like  misty 
clouds  among  its  green,  most  beautiful  when  its  clusters  of  dark,  juicy  fruit 
bend  earthward.  Occasionally  the  sweet,  white  water-lily  appears  on  still 
waters.  The  yellow  cow-lily,  despised  by  mortals  but  loved  by  insects,  is 
more  abundant.  As  the  season  advances  the  joe-pye  weed  masses  its  rich 
colored  blooms  by  many  a  stream,  while  the  orange-yellow  jewel-weed 
and  the  cardinal  flower  look  on. 

In  August  Queen  Anne's  lace  —  "  lady's  lace,"  in  local  nomenclature  — 
riots  with  blue  chicory  and  the  many  varieties  of  goldenrod  where  earlier 
the  wild  blackberry  made  patches  of  white.  Asters  of  many  sizes  and 
colors  grow  everywhere,  as  well  as  beautiful  grasses  which  it  would  be  too 


HOW    DAIRYING    BEAUTIFIES    THE    COUNTRYSIDE       141 

long  and  intricate  a  task  to  mention  in  detail.  We  only  say  that  they  are 
almost  as  attractive  as  the  trees  that  grow  above  them. 

Some  of  the  daintiest  and  most  beautiful  flowers,  however,  do  not  come 
to  quick  notice  but  are  often  stumbled  upon  when  looking  for  something 
else.  One  day  we  paused  by  a  sharp  cliff,  directly  bordering  the  road. 
While  engaged  in  making  pictures  we  observed  a  fluttering  of  wings. 
Under  a  little  jutting  shelf  of  rock,  about  shoulder  high,  was  a  swallow's 
nest  attached  to  the  stones,  and  a  few  inches  away  a  delicate  harebell  grew. 

We  do  not  doubt  there  are  thousands  of  beautiful  flowers  of  which  we 
have  never  dreamed,  as  iwell  as  thousands  of  beauties  of  other  kinds. 
Those  who  seek  find.  We  sit  humbly  at  the  feet  of  every  patient  observer 
and  wait  for  words  of  truth.  He  who  reveals  a  new  beauty  opens  the  book 
of  creation  a  little  wider  and  makes  life  richer  and  fuller. 


XXIV.    HOW   DAIRYING   BEAUTIFIES   THE 
CpUNTRYSIDE 

T  T  is  a  mistake  to  imagine  that  an  untouched  solitude  is  more  pleasing 
-■■  than  a  region  where  the  hand  of  man  has  tried  to  lead  nature.  A  path 
is  an  additional  beauty  in  a  forest  glade,  and  a  field  of  corn  on  a  mountain 
side  gives  an  added  attraction  to  the  view  of  the  mountain.  The  interest 
is  enhanced  by  some  hint  of  humanity. 

No  country  given  up  to  dairying  —  and  Vermont  is  very  largely  en- 
gaged in  this  department  of  farm  industry  —  can  be  otherwise  than  beauti- 
ful. For  the  success  of  his  herd,  the  dairyman  is  obliged  to  do  those  things 
on  the  farm  which  translate  the  humdrum  features  of  the  landscape  into 
something  more  interesting.  Farms  inevitably  grow  richer  in  soil  wherever 
dairying  is  carried  on,  and  as  a  consequence  there  is  a  blend  of  the  better 
cultivated  fields  with  the  wild  aspects  of  nature. 

The  corn  fields  of  Vermont  are  chiefly  the  result  of  dairying,  and  also 
the  pasture  lands  where  the  roving  foot  loves  to  wander  in  search  of 


142  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

beauty.  Cows,  being  fastidious,  leave  various  growths  untouched,  so  that 
there  are  wild  gardens  scattered  over  the  pastures.  Sheep  will  eat  what 
cows  ignore,  and  a  sheep  pasture  cleaned  of  shrubs  and  plants  has  thus  less 
of  interest  than  one  where  cattle  have  fed.  In  the  cow-grazed  pastures  the 
soft  smoothness  of  the  sod  is  always  delightful.  The  outcropping  ledges 
form  seats,  an  occasional  isolated  tree  adds  to  the  charm,  while  the  herds 
of  Jerseys  or  Holsteins  moving  across  the  downs  give  beautiful  notes  of 
form  and  color.  Most  delightful  building  sites,  ready  prepared,  can  also 
be  found  in  the  pastures. 

Thus,  to  the  dairy  interest  we  owe  varied  beauty.  To  it  we  mostly 
owe  the  visions  of  hay  cocks j  of  ribbon  roads  over  the  farmj  of  the  slow- 
moving  loads  of  hay,  sweeter  than  any  manufactured  perfume  j  of  the 
little  private  pastures  where  the  calves  are  kept  by  themselves  j  and  of  all 
the  concomitant  variations  of  farm  labor  incident  to  the  keeping  and  caring 
for  live  stock. 


XXV.    A  TASTE   FOR  THE   BEAUTIFUL 

IF  the  Vermont  farmer  or  tradesman  were  asked  what  he  thought  of 
beauty,  his  answer  might  be  more  startling  than  agreeable.  Yet  when 
he  chooses  a  wife  he  does  so  largely  for  her  "  looks."  The  greatest  good 
we  can  do  for  people  is  to  encourage  them  to  look  for,  to  cherish,  and 
to  enjoy  beauty. 

The  greatness  of  human  character  consists  in  the  number  of  its  adaptations 
to  lawj  that  is,  in  the  degree  of  its  harmony  with  eternal  truth.  Now 
beauty  is  no  small  component  of  truth,  and  runs  through  every  aspect  of 
nature  and  human  life.  The  character,  therefore,  that  does  not  apprehend 
beauty  is  a  very  warped  and  partially  developed  character.  For  beauty 
refers  not  merely  to  external  form  or  color,  but  to  expression,  to  ideas, 
to  the  shapes  and  harmonies  of  universal  truth.  No  human  life,  therefore, 
can  be  worth  much  unless  it  cherishes  beauty. 


A    TASTE    FOR   THE    BEAUTIFUL  145 

That  which  is  exquisite  in  beauty  is  the  highest  expression  of  intelli- 
gence and  power  and  affection.  The  best  of  its  kind  that  appeals  to  reason 
is,  of  course,  always  to  be  desired.  Through  the  pagan  ages  the  most 
beautiful  as  the  pagans  saw  it  was  often  worshiped  because  it  expressed 
to  the  unenlightened  mind,  as  to  our  own,  the  best  that  mind  knew.  And 
the  ancients  were  right  in  that  particular. 

Our  present  aim  is  to  make  evident  how  human  life  in  the  average  may 
be,  and  ought  to  be,  enriched  by  learning  to  appreciate  beauty  at  its  real 
worth. 

The  average  man  does  truly  appreciate  a  fine  character.  But  here  moral 
distinctions  often  become  confused,  as  in  the  recent  attempts  to  name  the 
outstanding  great  names  of  America.  Capacity  in  one  direction  is  often 
taken  for  greatness.  And  capacity  in  one  little  department  of  life,  as 
that  of  dancing,  or  singing,  has  sometimes  induced  the  casting  of  votes 
for  persons  limited  to  such  narrow  capacities.  As  if  such  persons  should 
therefore  stand  among  the  few  great  names  of  American  history!  Ob- 
viously a  well-rounded,  majestic  character  is  alone  worthy  to  be  selected 
among  a  score  of  persons  who  shall  represent  greatness.  That  is,  perfect 
beauty,  or  nearly  perfect,  in  art,  or  life,  is  essential  for  enrollment  in  any 
real  Valhalla. 

But  the  average  person,  if  he  feels  these  truths,  does  not  usually  express 
them.  How  far  he  feels  them  we  cannot  know,  but  we  do  know  that  if  in 
the  scheme  of  education  those  things  that  constitute  true  greatness  of  char- 
acter are  pointed  out  continually,  the  average  person  will  at  last  look 
upon  greatness  as  something  different  from  the  greatness  of  a  conquering 
general.  In  Germany  the  radically  wrong  basis  of  education  was  in  setting 
before  children  not  only  an  unbeautiful,  but  even  a  repulsive  ideal. 

There  is  too  little  exaltation  in  education  of  those  characters  which  are 
symmetrical  as  well  as  strong.  And  in  general,  applied  to  material  things, 
the  highest  mountain,  the  biggest  of  anything  in  nature,  is  the  most  talked 
about,  as  if  mere  mass  were  merit  or  could  be  attractive.  Mass,  rather 
than  form  or  merit,  catches  popular  taste.    That  is  to  say,  the  taste  for  the 


146  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

beautiful  requires  development  along  all  lines  at  once.  It  is  said  one  may 
enjoy  anything  without  analyzing  it.  That  is  a  misleading  statement,  for 
at  least  the  power  of  analysis  must  exist  in  us  if  we  are  truly  appreciative. 
The  very  power  of  appreciation  of  beauty  holds  in  it,  latent,  perhaps,  but 
not  less  real,  the  knowledge  of  what  beauty  is.  This  is  only  another  way 
of  saying  that  the  artist  can  see  more  in  a  sunset  than  the  untrained  person. 
Education  in  the  common  schools  can  point  out  beauty  of  form  and  color, 
all  that  is  visible  in  a  landscape,  but  often  education  merely  expresses  the 
demand  of  a  community.  That  demand  is  not  usually  sufficiently  concrete. 
But  whoever  convinces  a  neighborhood  that  its  roads  and  streams  are 
beautiful  J  whoever  shows  them  an  aspect  of  their  landscape,  a  grouping, 
a  composition  of  any  kind,  does  them  a  good,  and,  we  may  say,  an 
imperative  service. 

This  sort  of  cultural  work  among  all  the  people  will  not  be  done  soon, 
or  ever  fully  done.  But  the  American  who  does  not  learn,  like  the 
Hollander,  that  there  is  a  nobility  of  shape  and  color  in  his  countryside 
is  just  so  far  poorer  than  the  Hollander.  For  if  ,we  study  the  famous 
paintings  of  the  ages  we  find  that  the  scenes  they  represent  are  not  the 
most  beautiful  scenes  that  could  have  been  selected,  but  that  such  scenes 
as  the  painter  had  before  him  he  immortalized.  Painters  are  generally 
restricted,  either  financially,  or  by  their  prejudices  or  their  kind  of  talent, 
to  the  depiction  of  certain  sorts  of  things  only.  Thus  probably  the  Hol- 
land painter  never  thought  of  leaving  Holland  to  find  a  better  or  different 
landscape  than  that  before  him.  His  intensive  patriotism,  the  wonted 
scenes  of  his  childhood,  and  the  example  of  other  artists  who  preceded, 
all  tended  to  keep  him  in  a  groove.  He  finally  came  to  believe  that  the 
subjects,  as  well  as  the  atmosphere,  of  Holland  were  ideal  for  the  painter. 
In  his  department  of  endeavor  he  wrought  wondrously,  so  that  now,  in 
criticism,  we  do  not  say.  What  a  wonderful  landscape!  but.  How  well  this 
is  done! 

If,  however,  the  American  with  his  thoroughly  varied  landscape  learns 
to  love  each  one  for  its  special  beauties,  and  to  understand  that  in  some 


Ife^ 

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A    TASTE    FOR   THE    BEAUTIFUL  149 

feature,  at  least,  the  view  from  his  own  door  is  superior  to  any  other 
landscape,  he  has  made  progress  in  the  discernment  of  beauty  and  his  life 
is  fuller. 

That  beauty  in  our  country  is  unappreciated  is  proved  by  the  very 
meager  number  of  American  artists  who  can  find  a  market  for  their  land- 
scapes. The  artist  is  not  being  encouraged.  Whenever  a  competent  artist 
does  good  work  in  America  it  is  only  after  long  years  of  patient  effort 
that  he  is  sought  out  and  appreciated.  Good  American  landscapes  should 
hang  on  the  walls  of  every  home,  as  evidence  of  our  patriotism  and 
love  of  the  beautiful. 

We  hope  to  see  the  day  when  many  fine  scenes  in  Vermont  will  be 
placed  on  canvas  by  hands  that  combine  love  and  power.  But  it  is  a 
curious  and  unreasonable  thing  that  artists  group  in  colonies.  It  would 
be  as  sensible  for  all  fishermen  to  crowd  together  and  cast  their  lines 
in  the  same  pool.  Artists  ought  to  be  roamers.  Artists  have  proved 
strangely  inept  in  getting  to  spots  most  worth  while  to  paint.  If  com- 
petition and  grouping  of  artists  is  necessary  to  artistic  work,  certainly 
they  should  have  reached  the  height  of  their  development. 

The  itinerant  postal  card  maker  pictures  the  schoolhouse,  which  has 
no  character,  the  meeting-house,  without  character,  the  business  block, 
wholly  characterless.  This  itinerant  has  neither  time  nor  taste  for  seek- 
ing those  features  which,  lying  near  each  village,  give  it  distinctiveness, 
which  are  different  from  any  other  spot  on  earth.  For  though  the  human 
face  sometimes  resembles  its  fellows  very  closely,  as  in  twins,  or  in  parent 
and  child,  there  are  no  two  landscapes  alike,  nor  any  landscape  that  is 
twice  alike.  The  shifting  lights  and  the  changing  vegetation  make  as  many 
pictures  as  there  are  days  in  the  year.  The  clouds  never  precisely  repeat 
themselves.  There  is  individuality  in  every  tree,  and  some  say  in  every 
blade  of  grass.  Not  to  press  the  point  too  far,  we  wish  to  insist  on  this 
at  least,  that  the  versatility  of  nature  is  so  great  that  she  never  repeats 
herself  exactly,  and  every  spot  on  earth  has  an  individuality. 

This  individuality  needs  emphasis  because  the  trend  of  government,  the 


150  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

easy  form  of  education,  and  the  power  of  fashion  all  tend  toward  a  dull 
uniformity  of  men  and  things.  Factory  products,  made  of  interchange- 
able parts,  are  sought  to  be  paralleled  in  the  scheme  of  the  communist,  to 
whom  any  distinction  is  anathema.  There  is  a  sufficient  sameness  in- 
herent in  human  nature.  It  is  emphasized  sufficiently.  Lack  of  culture, 
lack  of  thought,  of  care,  tend  to  sameness,  and  a  base  sameness.  The  high 
breeding  of  animals  is  by  selection,  and  by  an  extreme  care  for  excellence. 
Otherwise,  if  this  principle  were  not  followed,  not  merely  in  breeding 
stock,  but  in  developing  plants,  we  should  drop  back  to  wild  conditions  and 
nomad  life. 

Great  men  are  inevitably  individualists  in  their  development,  and  com- 
munists in  providing  some  great  good  for  society  in  general.  A  man  like 
Edison  is  as  far  as  possible  from  the  average  man,  but  the  average  man 
is  benefited  more  by  Edison  than  by  a  million  average  men.  The  artist 
catches  the  particular  glory  of  one  spot  —  its  contours  of  beauty,  its  colors 
of  splendor,  its  mystery,  the  particular  merit  or  wonder  it  has  to  reveal, 
its  alliance  with  and  reach  after  connection  with  the  universe,  and  then  on 
his  canvas  the  scene  lives  for  long  to  inspire  and  gladden  the  dull  day, 
in  a  distant  region,  perhaps.  Thus  its  beauty  is  multiplied  for  the  world, 
and  multitudes  joy  in  what  at  first  thrilled  only  one  observant,  sensitive 
spirit.  For  whatever  we  find  for  ourselves  passes  along,  whether  we  wish 
it  so  or  not,  to  others. 

The  gist  of  enjoyment  in  life  arises  out  of  observation.  Ask  a  series 
of  persons  what  they  see  in  passing  through  a  township.  Some  will  be  able 
to  tell  it  all  in  three  sentences.  Others  have  seen  volumes.  He  who  saw 
most  lived  most.  He  who  sees  only  fertile  lands  and  herds  does  not  see 
enough.  He  who  sees  only  grace  and  color  does  not  see  enough.  He 
who  looks  merely  as  a  geologist  or  a  botanist  sees  too  little.  To  be  broad 
enough  to  see  it  all,  man  must  be  a  god.  To  be  so  narrow  as  to  see  only 
commercialism  is  to  be  less  than  man.  To  glory  in  the  acres  because  they 
are  beautiful,  are  rich,  are  lovable,  are  hiding  wonderful  truth,  is  an  end- 
less source  of  large  satisfaction  to  an  active  well-grown  mind.  That  is 
what  it  is  to  be  a  grown-up  dweller  on  God's  earth. 


■"  'iwr^ 


A    TASTE    FOR   THE    BEAUTIFUL  153 

It  has  been  said  that  the  Greeks  lacked  a  love  of  landscape.  If  that 
be  so,  the  fact  is  one  more  illustration  of  the  partial  development  of  all 
races.  That  which  remains  of  Greek  art  certainly  has  little  in  it  suggestive 
of  landscape  beauty.  The  love  of  landscape  is  much  in  evidence  in  the 
books  of  our  later  novelists.  It  has  become  a  fad  to  analyze  landscapes 
and  to  go  into  details  in  regard  to  their  appearance  under  certain  weather 
conditions  or  when  viewed  in  certain  moods  by  their  characters.  So  far 
so  good.  But  the  fashion  of  noticing  landscapes  has  not  sufficiently  estab- 
lished itself  among  the  body  of  the  people. 

In  America  the  average  citizen  tells  the  traveler  of  a  broad  view  at  the 
summit  of  a  certain  mountain  road.  He  never  has  the  nearer  beauties 
mentioned  to  him.  A  view  is  supposed  to  be  important  in  proportion  to  its 
extent.  Intrinsic  beauty  is  entirely  forgotten.  "  You  can  see  the  ocean 
from  that  hill,  in  a  fair  day,"  we  are  told.  Well,  suppose  we  can.  It  is 
far  preferable  to  see  it  as  we  stand  on  its  shore. 

The  framing  of  pictures  by  the  eye,  as  one  walks  or  drives,  is  a  most 
delightful  occupation.  A  great  camera  company  is  covering  the  road  with 
the  statement  that  there  is  a  picture  ahead.  This  statement  is  a  great 
surprise  to  the  ordinary  man.  Many  a  time  have  we  seen  handsome  motor 
cars  roll  along  through  a  charming  country  with  never  an  eye  of  their 
occupants  turned  right  or  left.  God  has  made  his  pearls  prominent  j  it  is 
for  us  to  find  them  and  use  them.  But  there  are  many  travelers  (we  say 
it  from  intimate  knowledge)  that  neither  know  the  points  of  the  compass 
nor  even  the  states  they  are  in.  Mountains,  rivers,  cottages  —  everything 
entrancing  —  flashes  by.  Less  observing  than  the  animals,  less  thankful, 
these  passengers  go  on  their  way  telling  what  Jane  said  to  Kate  and  what 
Kate  said  to  Jane. 

Some  years  since  we  took  a  party  through  the  best  parts  of  old  New 
England.  Fifty  miles  we  traveled  unable  to  induce  the  party  to  notice 
the  beauty  of  the  region,  and  then,  judging  it  was  the  works  of  men  our 
guests  desired  to  see,  we  invited  them  into  one  of  the  important  historical 
museums  of  America.    One  accepted  our  invitation,  the  other  two  remained 


154  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

in  the  car!  The  incident  was  a  reminder  of  a  country  woman  who  seldom 
went  away  from  home,  but  who,  being  taken  for  a  drive,  would  say  to  any 
observation,  "  I  have  to  'tend  to  my  riding!  " 

So  roads  are  useless,  and  the  fair  expanse  of  heaven  and  earth,  to  those 
who  having  eyes  see  notj  who  have  not  learned  the  primary  idea  of  edu- 
cation, to  observe  in  order  to  know. 

If  we  proceed  to  try  to  point  out  some  of  the  more  beautiful  aspects 
of  Vermont,  we  are  aware  that  we  can  do  so  only  as  laymen  in  art.  We 
leave  to  real  artists  the  better  professional  analysis. 

The  early  morning  is  the  silent  time  of  nature.  Then,  indeed,  mists 
may  be  on  the  hills,  but  as  these  mists  ascend,  and  before  they  have  entirely 
cleared  the  peaks,  the  views  are  more  beautiful  than  when  every  skyline 
is  clear.  That  is,  any  element  of  mystery  in  a  landscape  adds  to  its  charm. 
This  is  felt  in  the  curving  road  or  stream.  As  each  disappears  around  a 
cliff  or  clump  of  trees,  it  leads  us  on  to  learn  what  is  beyond. 

The  element  of  naturalness,  even  when  we  do  not  secure  it  in  a  picture, 
is  still  demanded  by  the  eye.  That  is,  a  country  where  every  wall  is  perfect 
and  every  homestead  like  a  lodge  in  a  park,  is  not  a  thoroughly  interesting 
country.  To  be  interesting  it  must  have  something,  at  least,  left  as  nature 
made  it.  It  is  this  impulse  which  craves  naturalness  that  has  of  late  induced 
the  leaving  of  great  boulders  on  lawns  and  allowing  wild  flowers  to  grow 
by  them.  We  are  learning  to  do  less  with  nature.  We  can  never  success- 
fully imitate  her.  If  we  make  living  with  her  possible  by  leading  winding 
roads  through  her  domain  and  perhaps  clearing  away  rubbish  which,  if 
left,  might  require  generations  to  care  for,  we  have  often  done  enough. 

But  besides  containing  natural  objects  a  good  landscape  picture  must 
have  certain  other  characteristics.  There  must  be  in  it  a  vista,  a  certain 
point  which  leads  the  eye  towards  a  central  object  or  a  central  light.  Any 
object  looked  at  square  on  may  be  photographed,  but  such  a  view  does  not 
give  a  picture  in  the  artistic  sense.  We  get  a  picture  by  looking  up  or  down 
a  valley  or  stream,  rather  than  across. 

The  matter  of  detail  is  also  something  to  be  considered  in  a  picture. 


w«r 


m 


THE    LANE  157 

A  general  view  is  no  picture.  Whatever  mountains  may  rise  behind,  there 
is  no  picture  unless  the  foreground  has  some  item  of  interest.  One  tree 
always  outweighs  a  forest,  for  its  beauties  are  more  visible.  As  children 
stop,  look,  and  listen  when  you  begin  your  story,  "  Once  there  was  a  man," 
so  the  eye  naturally  desires  the  concrete,  near  thing  in  every  picture  be- 
fore you  tell  it  of  sky  or  mountain.  A  flock  of  two  thousand  sheep,  scat- 
tered over  a  wide  expanse,  as  we  pictured  them  in  California,  is  far  inferior 
in  interest  to  a  dozen  sheep  near  at  hand. 


XXVI.    THE   LANE 

^  I  ^HE  lane  was  rather  crooked,  because  there  were  ledges  to  go  around 
-■-  and  the  hill  was  steep.  It  took  a  turn  by  an  ancient  chestnut  that 
lifted  its  big,  spiral,  quickly  tapering  trunk  in  a  mass  of  raspberry  bushes 
on  both  sides  of  the  post  and  rail  fence  by  which  it  grew.  Opposite  the 
tree,  on  the  other  side  of  the  lane,  was  a  comfortably  rambling  wall  of 
rounded  field  stone.  The  rails  on  their  side  of  the  lane  had  bleached  to 
the  color  of  the  stones,  and  the  pale  green  lichen  covered  stone  and  rail 
impartially. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  the  lane  widened  into  the  pasture.  Wiggly  paths 
crawled  through  the  grass.  Over  them  an  occasional  apple  tree  reached  a 
twisty  branch.  Its  petals  fell  softly  from  its  blossoms  and  floated  slowly 
away.  It  was  a  sharp  spring  morning.  The  boy  was  barefoot.  As  he  put 
up  the  bars  after  the  cows  he  could  not  resist  stepping  into  the  shallow 
water  of  the  rill  that  ran  near  the  barn.  A  crow  alighted  on  a  high  limb 
near  by.  The  boy  tried  on  it  a  pebble  from  the  brook,  but  with  less  success 
than  David,  though  the  crow  felt  his  narrow  escape  and  flew  cawing  away. 
The  boy  wished  he  were  a  man. 

Twenty  years  after:  The  lusty  young  farmer  comes  down  the  lane 
at  milking  time,  and  meets  at  the  bars  a  ruddy  girl,  scarce  twenty,  with 
his  baby  reaching  and  crowing  and  kicking.    The  soft  lights  touch  them. 


158  VERMONT   BEAUTIFUL 

They  are  like  the  first  family,  only  more  daring,  more  hopeful,  and  better 
armed  to  meet  the  world. 

Twenty  years  after:  Again  the  mother  of  his  baby  girl  meets  him  at 
the  foot  of  the  lane.  Little  waves,  compounded  of  trouble,  joy,  and  tender- 
ness, chase  across  her  face.  "  Hatty  writes  she  is  engaged.  She  says  her 
man  is  good,  and  his  father  is  taking  him  into  business." 

Twenty  years  more:  Down  the  lane  comes  the  grizzled  farmer,  and 
at  the  bars  stands  mother,  kind,  furrowed,  but  sturdy.  "  Supper  is  ready, 
John.  Hatty's  boy  is  coming  tomorrow  with  his  young  wife  and  baby. 
Our  children  are  all  gone  away,  John,  but  their  children  are  coming  on." 

They  go  in  hand  in  hand  to  supper.  It  is  a  long  lane.  It  goes  from 
the  home  to  the  hill. 


XXVII.    THE   OLD    CELLAR    HOLE 

HE  WAS  past  middle-age,  and  bore  on  his  face  the  story  of  suffering, 
of  achievement.  He  walked  somewhat  stiffly  up  the  slope  near  the 
roadside,  and  paused  by  the  old  cellar  hole.  Old  lilac  bushes  stood  in  an 
irregular  row  along  one  end  of  the  hole,  and  a  pear  tree  leaned  over  the 
other  end. 

The  house  had  gone  a  good  many  years  before,  probably  by  fire,  though 
it  had  left  no  trace  except  a  few  blackened  ashes.  A  couple  of  stone  hitch- 
ing posts  in  front  showed  old  rusty  rings.  This  generation  needed  them 
not,  and  they  bowed  somewhat  apologetically  for  presuming  to  hold  their 
stand  so  long.  For  nothing  was  hitched  nowadays.  Three  short  walls 
of  field  stone  met  in  the  rear.  An  old  maple,  deeply  wounded  where  its 
largest  limb  had  broken  off,  stood  by  a  corner  of  the  wall.  Not  far  away 
the  limb  itself  lay  shattered.  A  forsaken  lane  marked  where  the  barn 
had  been. 

The  man  pushed  about  with  his  feet  till  he  found  the  smooth  gneiss 
stone  at  what  must  have  been  the  back  door.     He  gave  a  poke  with  his 


THE    OLD    CELLAR    HOLE  i6i 

cane  at  one  end  of  the  stone.  He  was  trying  to  find  the  hole  where  the 
toad  used  to  live!  That  toad  had  scared  him  a  little,  and  afterward  made 
him  laugh,  sixty  years  before,  when  as  a  toddler  he  had  discovered  the 
queer  thing.  That  was  the  first  time  his  mother  had  let  him  climb  down 
alone  from  the  door  and  go  about  the  yard  by  himself.  No,  it  couldn't 
be  sixty  years !  It  seemed  like  last  week.  There  were  some  rose  bushes  at 
the  other  end  of  the  stone.  He  plucked  a  bulbous  seed  from  one  of  them, 
looked  at  it  a  full  minute,  then  carefully  placed  it  in  his  pocket. 

As  he  stood  there  musing  the  lowering  sun,  looking  through  a  clump 
of  locusts,  made  long  streams  of  light  about  the  old  cellar  hole.  There 
was  the  flight  of  stone  steps  where  the  potatoes  were  carried  down  in  the 
fall  by  his  father's  big-jointed  hands  holding  firmly  to  the  ears  of  the 
bushel  basket.  Yes,  and  there  were  the  relics  of  the  bin,  under  the  brick 
arch.  Over  on  that  side  used  to  stand  the  apple  barrels,  when  his  father 
sent  him  down  after  supper  with  a  candle  to  bring  up  a  dish  of  Bellflowers 
or  Baldwins.  It  was  a  pretty  dark  place,  and  he  was  only  four,  but  he  left 
the  door  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  open,  just  a  crack. 

The  sun  sank  lower.  The  man  leaned  on  his  cane,  more  with  wistful 
relaxation  than  with  weakness.  As  he  still  looked  down  he  spied  one  or 
two  blackberry  bushes  right  on  the  edge  of  the  cellar  hole.  He  remem- 
bered when  father  was  off  at  war,  in  1862,  that  mother  and  sister  and  he 
had  plenty  of  sweet  blackberries  from  those  very  bushes.  There  were  two 
berries  ripe  now.  He  picked  them  carefully.  He  took  off  his  hat  and 
looked  about,  and  up  and  down  in  the  cellar  hole.  Then  he  ate  the  two 
blackberries.  Had  one  seen  the  formal  way  he  did  it,  one  would  almost 
have  thought  he  was  partaking  of  the  holy  communion.  But  nobody  saw 
him.  It  was  getting  late.  The  light  was  a  little  misty  now,  or  so  it  seemed 
to  the  man.    He  sighed  a  few  times,  then  turned  toward  the  road. 

As  he  faced  the  setting  sun  a  look  of  solemnity  and  determination, 
mingled  with  the  light  of  a  longing  hope,  came  upon  his  countenance.  The 
old  cellar  hole  was  left  behind  him.  Camel's  Hump  looked  smaller  than 
usual  i  the  circle  of  hills  looked  nearer j  the  valleys  smaller,  but  more 
beautiful.    Only  the  old  cellar  hole  looked  big. 


1 62  VERMONT   BEAUTIFUL 

XXVIII.    THE    COUNTRY   SCHOOLHOUSE 

THE  old  schoolhouse  stood  under  a  huge,  glorious,  vase  elm  at  the 
corner  where  the  roads  met.  It  was  a  square  building,  with  a  hip 
roof  and  high  windows.  We  could  not  see  out  of  them  unless  we  stood. 
There  were  solid  shutters  outside  to  be  closed  during  vacation. 

W^ithin,  the  walls  were  sheathed  with  wide  pine  boards  painted  drab, 
as  near  dust  color  as  possible.  The  benches  were  so  made  that  the  back  of 
one  formed  a  desk  for  another.  There  were  notches  and  strange  marks 
cut  in  the  seat  by  the  new  knife.  The  teacher  would  have  seen  it  if  tried 
on  the  desk.  The  back  seat  was  a  plank  against  the  wall.  The  oldest 
girls  on  the  one  side  and  the  oldest  boys  on  the  other,  occupied  this  back 
seat,  and  felt  a  little  larger  than  they  would  ever  feel  in  after  life.  The 
half-man,  half-boy,  when  he  reached  the  back  seat  was  sometimes  saucy 
to  the  teacher,  and  then  a  rather  brisk  passage  of  arms  occurred. 

A  barrel  stove  stood  near  the  teacher's  table.  The  boys  took  turns  in 
feeding  the  long  sticks  down  vertically  into  the  coals.  The  round  lid  was 
often  red  hot.  In  summer,  when  the  occasional  revivalist  preached  in  the 
schoolhouse,  he  would  sometimes  bring  his  fist  down  on  the  then  cold  stove 
lid  until  it  rang  again.  It  was  the  only  irony  in  the  sermon,  which  was 
usually  hot  enough. 

The  pail  of  water  was  brought  from  a  farmhouse  by  two  boys  deputed 
for  this  delightful  duty.  At  recess  there  was  a  scramble  to  get  out  into  the 
pasture  where  the  ball  game  was  waged.  At  noon,  on  hot  summer  days, 
we  ran  a  half-mile  to  the  old  swimming  hole,  undressing  on  the  way.  It 
was  not  a  great  task  to  throw  off  a  jacket,  a  pair  of  trousers,  and  a  shirt, 
for  there  was  neither  hat,  shoe,  nor  stocking  in  the  party. 

The  swimming  hole  was  a  small,  abandoned  mill  dam.  The  brook  which 
fed  it  came  from  springs,  and  the  water  was  always  shiveringly  cold.  Here 
we  splashed  and  played  pranks  for  a  long  half-hour,  by  guess,  for  a  watch 
there  was  not  in  this  whole  party  of  imps.  With  never  a  towel  to  rub 
ourselves  down,  we  jumped  into  two  garments  and  ran  for  school  with  the 


THE    COUNTRY    SCHOOLHOUSE  165 

third  over  our  shoulders.  It  was  a  bad  five  minutes  in  store  if  we  slunk 
in  five  minutes  late,  thin,  white,  and  panting.  "  You  have  been  in  swim- 
ming —  I  shall  inform  your  parents,"  came  the  voice  of  the  teacher.  For 
it  was  a  well-known,  well-broken  rule,  that  no  boy  should  go  in  swimming 
at  noon.  He  who  did  so  had  to  eat  his  luncheon  while  on  the  run,  and 
plunge  hot  into  the  cold  pool.  No  wonder  parents  forbade  it,  and  that 
teachers  did  their  best  to  prevent  early  deaths  or  a  race  of  dyspeptics! 

In  winter  Uncle  had  white  Fanny  harnessed  in  the  sleigh.  Mamie  was 
tucked  in,  and  the  knowing  Fanny  trotted  away  to  the  schoolhouse  door  and 
came  home  by  herself.  One  day  a  neighbor  who  lived  between  the  ends 
of  the  route  attempted  to  use  the  empty  conveyance  to  make  a  call  on  Uncle. 
But  no,  Fanny  veered  out  and  hurried  on  when  she  saw  the  presumed 
trespasser  by  the  roadside.  At  night,  also,  Fanny  was  sent  oflf  in  the  empty 
pung  to  bring  her  young  mistress  from  school.  Though  there  were  three 
intervening  houses  and  two  crossroads,  Fanny  never  failed  in  her  fleet 
errand,  either  going  or  returning. 

The  best  of  the  teachers  of  this  old  country  school  is  still  living.  Though 
conversant  with  the  wide  world  and  sharing  its  abundance,  she  has  pre- 
ferred to  return  to  her  native  hills.  Patient,  wise,  steady,  faithful,  she 
left  an  ineffaceable  impression  that  knowledge  was  worth  having  and  that 
it  adorned  and  dignified  life,  and  that  she  could  and  would  impart  it, 
whether  we  wished  to  take  it  or  no.  Her  pleasant,  prompt  voice,  her  clear 
mind,  her  power  to  make  things  go  in  the  school,  ungraded  though  it  was, 
all  carried  weight  with  us,  and  we  learned  more  rapidly  than  ever  before 
or  since.    For  personality  in  the  teacher  is  everything. 

The  arithmethic  was  Greenleaf's.  We  went  through  it,  and  on  our 
cracked  slate  successfully  solved  all  the  problems  in  percentage  and  at  last 
the  trick  sums:  found  out  how  much  the  blacksmith  was  paid  who  asked 
a  cent  for  the  first  horseshoe  nail  driven,  and  doubled  the  charge  for  each 
successive  nailj  we  successfully  got  the  fox,  goose,  and  peck  of  corn  over 
the  river,  each  intact.  We  had  the  six  Hilliard  readers  from  James  and  the 
Dog  —  "  James  will  soon  feed  his  dog  "  (a  huge  mastiff)  —  to  Marco 


1 66  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

Bozzaris.  We  bounded  the  states,  and  drew  maps  of  them  on  the  black- 
board. We  lined  up  for  the  spelling  class,  and  went  down  on  "  victuals  " 
and  were  not  comforted  until  we  reached  home  and  the  real  victuals  went 
down  us.  We  were  just  ordinary  children,  but  by  eleven  years  we  were 
through  the  course  and  closed  it  by  parsing,  "  The  moping  owl  doth  to  the 
moon  complain  of  such  as,  etc." 

It  was  the  best  schoolhouse  and  the  best  system  in  the  world,  so  long  as 
the  best  teacher  stood  there.  She  began  praying;  she  ended  smiling.  May 
the  recollections  of  her  old  age  still  cheer  her  long  evenings.  We  crown 
her  among  "  America's  Twelve  Greatest  Women."  And  the  hundreds  of 
American  boys  can  say  the  same  of  their  teachers,  and  all  will  say  truth. 
For  a  good  teacher  is  the  noblest  of  women,  and  a  bad  teacher  the  most 
pitiable. 


XXIX.    THE   FIELD   OF   POTATOES 

WE  WERE  called  on  to  drop  in  the  furrow  as  we  walked,  the  two 
pieces  of  potato.  They  must  be  eighteen  inches  apart,  according 
to  judgment,  and  a  good  exercise  of  that  faculty  it  was.  The  half -bushel 
basket  which  held  the  potatoes  was  heavy  at  first,  and  one's  arm  ached, 
but  though  we  had  never  heard  of  Aesop  and  his  fable  of  the  bread,  it 
was  cheering  to  find  the  basket  lightening  at  every  step. 

When  harvest  time  came,  one  farmer's  boy  of  six  was  oiBFered  a  sheep 
if  he  would  pick  up  all  the  potatoes  dug  from  the  field.  Six  acres  of 
potatoes!  When  two  men  dug  it  was  a  back  and  leg  ache  for  the  boy,  but 
when  one  man  dug  even  a  small  boy  had  not  enough  to  do.  There  was 
time  to  pause  and  philosophize  beside  the  basket.  The  tales  of  the  digger, 
also,  were  worth  hearing.  Especially  that  cheering  one  of  a  man  who  died 
from  eating  too  many  apples!  Not  a  ray  of  hope  came  to  the  boy  in  regard 
to  his  own  fate,  for  he  had  eaten  all  the  apples  he  could  find,  and  never 
ceased  eating  except  when  too  far  from  the  tree  or  the  barrel!     The  autumn 


THE    FIELD    OF    POTATOES  169 

days  were  full  of  dreams.  Anything  was  possible  on  those  mellow  hill- 
sides. From  them  went  out  the  greatest  of  merchants,  the  greatest  of  in- 
dustrial leaders,  and  almost  the  greatest  of  statesmen.  But  the  highest 
ambition  of  the  boy  of  six  years,  was  a  jigsaw  or  a  "  boughten  "  sled  with 
good  red  paint. 

Forty  bu'shels  was  the  day's  stint  of  potatoes  in  the  time  between  chores 
and  chores.  The  red  oxen.  Star  and  Swan,  were  brought  out  to  the  field 
to  draw  the  harvest  home.  At  the  house  the  little  and  big  potatotes, 
already  separated  in  the  field,  went  to  their  allotted  places  j  and  at  meal 
time  came  the  compensation  for  much  drudgery  when  the  potatoes  were 
eaten,  popping  from  the  oven,  with  new  milk  and  salt. 

But  the  poetry  departed  from  the  potato  field  with  the  coming  of  the 
all-consuming  beetle.  As  we  saw  the  green  plants  spreading  their  leaves 
over  the  brown  earth,  visions  of  disagreeable  work  ahead  clouded  all  other 
pictures.  For  at  first,  before  the  days  of  spraying,  we  had  to  knock  the 
intruding  bugs  deftly  from  the  plant  to  a  pan  and  then  apply  kerosene. 

But  to  return  to  those  oxen.  At  an  age,  even  tenderer  than  six,  one  boy 
was  deputed  to  walk  beside  the  great,  slow,  kind  beasts  and  carry  the  goad 
stick  as  the  potato  field  was  plowed.  At  the  turning  of  the  row,  the  boy's 
heel  tripped  on  the  high  furrow  j  he  fell  backward,  and  Star  lifted  his 
great  foot,  and  even  touched  the  boy's  chest  with  his  hoof,  but  sensing 
something  wrong  held  his  incomplete  step  until  the  frightened  plowman 
snatched  the  child  away. 

Many  a  narrow  escape  occurs  on  the  farm.  The  classic  instance  is  that 
of  a  tomboy  of  about  ten,  in  the  days  of  the  hoop-skirt.  She  leaped  from 
a  high  to  a  low  mow  of  hay,  caught  her  crinoline  on  a  half  hidden  wooden 
fork,  and  hung  like  a  scarecrow  for  a  moment  till  she  came  loose,  minus 
the  hoops.  Before  she  could  recover  herself  and  her  property,  guests 
of  her  father,  it  being  town-meeting  day,  entered  the  barn.  The  child  hid 
while  the  astonished  father  looked  at  his  little  daughter's  fashionable 
habiliments  hanging  high  on  the  fork.  For  years  after,  any  unruliness 
in  public  on  the  part  of  that  girl,  was  quickly  squelched  if  the  father  started 
to  mention  "  an  accident  that  happened  some  years  since  to  my  daughter!  " 


170  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

XXX.    THE   HAY   FIELD 

T  T  WAS  a  great  event  for  the  boy  of  eleven  when  he  was  offered  a 
-^  dollar  a  day  for  his  services  in  haying.  Ivy  poisoned  him,  blistering 
feet  and  arms.  The  fierce  sun  of  a  New  England  summer  beat  on  him. 
He  must  turn  the  drying  grass,  rake,  and  make  the  loadj  and,  toughest  task 
of  all,  take  the  hay  on  the  high  mow  from  the  pitcher  and  stow  the  heavy 
forkfuls  under  the  hot  eaves.  It  was  a  stiff  grind  while  it  lasted,  and  it 
lasted  a  month,  sometimes  six  weeks,  as  one  was  often  "  let  out,"  or 
"  changed  work." 

Once  the  horses  started  unbidden  as  the  loader  was  on  the  rear  of  the 
load,  and  off  he  went,  striking  head-first,  just  avoiding  a  boulder.  But 
the  big  wild  strawberries  found  in  the  grass,  the  occasional  respite  when 
sent  to  bring  ginger  tea  to  the  men,  and  the  big  dollar  when  the  day  was 
done,  were  all  balancing  joys. 

The  haying  season  was  the  great  rush  time  of  the  year.  Everybody  and 
everything  bent  to  it.  And  when  the  thunder  heads  loomed  in  the  west 
over  a  fine  field  of  well-made  hay,  how  the  springless  hay  racks  rattled  as 
they  were  galloped  afield!  How  the  men  leaped  to  it,  hurling  on  huge 
forkfuls!  How  they  tumbled  it  into  the  mows  and  rushed  forth  again, 
a  race  against  nature!  As  the  terrible  blackness  increased  in  the  sky,  the 
set  teeth,  reeking  faces,  and  tensed  muscles  of  the  men  responded.  The 
nervous  horses  caught  the  fear  of  impending  calamity  j  and  when  the  last 
load  was  hustled  in,  as  the  first  heavy  drops  fell,  there  was  ended  the  most 
spirited,  splendid  spurt  that  was  seen  on  the  farm  in  a  year's  end. 


VERMONT    DAMSELS   AND    DAMES  173 

XXXI.    VERMONT   DAMSELS   AND    DAMES 

TT  THEN  we  are  telling  of  the  beauties  of  Vermont  it  goes  without 
^  '      saying  that  her  damsels  and  matrons  are  included  among  the  chief 
objects  of  interest.     Still,  we  like  to  say  it. 

In  school  days,  when  the  girl  with  a  long  braid  of  yellow  hair  came  down 
the  road,  looking  straight  ahead,  we  "  passed  by  on  the  other  side,"  but  not 
for  the  same  reason  th^t  moved  the  Pharisee.  It  was  because  we  "  dassen't  " 
cross  over.  We  could  not  have  spoken  if  we  had  tried.  And  did  we  ever 
pull  that  braid?  We  did  not.  As  soon  seize  the  hanging  end  of  alive  wire! 
And  then  the  intense  scorn  that  would  have  flashed  like  blue  lightnings 
from  those  eyes!  The  other  girl,  a  good  deal  older,  who  freely  reached 
her  hand  in  the  games  we  played  —  somehow  it  was  no  matter  whether  we 
took  it  or  not!  Then  there  was  a  slim,  prim,  little  Winnie,  who  would  say, 
"  Hello!  "  in  a  small  voice.  A  kindly  little  girl,  nothing  snobbish  about 
Winnie  J  she  seemed  like  one  of  our  own  folks.  Then  there  was  that  girl 
who  talked  through  her  nose  and  had  a  rough  skin,  who  once  threw  a  note 
saying,  "  I  love  you."  She  must  have  been  ten.  We  boys  were  nine.  And 
at  once  she  became  the  last  girl  in  the  school  that  any  boy  would  care  to  talk 
with.  Then  there  was  the  girl  who  lived  in  the  big  house  on  the  hill, 
whose  people  had  a  college  president  as  a  relative.  She  was  a  thing  apart. 
She  inclined  to  be  sarcastic  and  no  boy  could  bear  that.  So  important  was 
she  that  we  never  thought  of  her  as  any  one  to  speak  with.  Once  we  all 
stole  up  and  hung  a  crimped  tissue  paper  May-basket  on  her  front  door, 
and  ran  a  mile  like  Jehu's  horses  lest  we  get  caught  —  a  deep  disgrace. 
They  were  all  lovely  girls  to  look  at,  and  good  at  heart,  though  we  did 
not  imagine  a  girl  could  be  kind,  who  jeered  at  the  boys.  We  did  not 
know  it  was  part  of  the  girPs  natural  armory. 

So  the  years  went  on.  In  boyhood  we  spoke  little  to  the  girls  for  fear 
they  would  not  answer  usj  and  afterward  we  spoke  little  for  fear  they 
would  answer.  There  was  an  odd  repulsion,  pride,  bashfulness  or  what 
not  that  kept  the  boys  by  themselves.    Then  there  were  the  young  mothers! 


174  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

How  wonderful  they  were,  and  how  strange  that  they  seemed  to  love  those 
ugly  babies!  The  older  matrons  were  always  so  good  to  the  neighbors' 
boys.  It  was  in  meeting  these  mothers  that  the  boys  got  their  first  hint 
of  good  and  kindly  manners.  When  sent  on  errands  to  the  neighbors,  how 
we  longed  to  accept  an  invitation  to  supper!  But  of  course  it  would  not 
do,  because  when  we  reached  home  we  would  be  asked,  "  Well,  did  you 
tell  all  you  knew?  " 

The  older  matrons  were  wonderful  to  the  boys  in  the  seeming  complete- 
ness of  their  motherly  nature.  The  boy  naturally  feels  that  a  woman, 
with  her  kind  ways,  her  large  affection,  capable  of  taking  in  the  neighbors' 
boys  with  her  own,  and  her  thorough  understanding  of  the  boy  nature,  is 
a  fountain  of  power,  wisdom  and  mystery.  She  embodies  the  human  race 
in  the  rotundity  of  her  attributes.  And  the  country  woman,  especially, 
accustomed  to  do  everything  for  her  family,  has  a  reposeful  strength  very 
impressive  to  the  small  boy.  If  it  is  a  doughnut  or  a  piece  of  pie  that  he 
wants;  if  it  is  a  loose  button  or  a  ripped  straw-hat  band  to  be  attended  toj 
if  it  is  a  sliver  to  be  extracted j  or  a  lesson  in  morals  to  be  inculcated  —  the 
wants,  the  joys,  and  the  woes  of  life  are  taken  to  the  womanly  source  of 
comfort  and  help.  To  the  boy  she  is  a  present  visible  Providence;  all  of 
God  that  he  knows  comes  from  her.  This  is  no  less  true  in  the  hours  of 
punishment,  when  the  boy  is  sent  out  to  cut  the  stick  to  be  used  on  his  own 
person.  For  the  feminine  soul  understands  psychology  sufficiently  to 
know  that  the  chief  punishment  is  the  dread  that  accompanies  the  long  task 
of  procuring  the  stick! 

A  country  woman,  especially  in  the  time  when  wasp  waists  were  in  style, 
and  when  frailness  of  body  was  fashionable  for  women,  was  by  her  duties 
and  sympathies  removed  from  the  thrall  of  vogue  so  far,  at  least,  that 
she  was  a  sturdy  woman  in  body  and  mind.  To  her  the  sculptor  must  have 
gone  in  those  days  for  his  Juno  or  even  for  his  Hebe.  Now  when  it  is 
allowed  to  all  women  to  be  beautiful,  it  seems  odd  to  remember  that  the 
only  normal  woman  in  those  days  was  one  who  worked. 

The  helpless  resignation  of  the  good  man  to  his  wife  is  more  obvious 


COUNTRY    COURTESY  177 

in  the  country,  it  seems  to  us,  than  in  the  city.  The  country  woman's  com- 
plete charge  of  the  commissary  renders  her  more  looked  to  than  is  the  case 
where  the  city  man  brings  home  the  daily  driblets  from  market  to  make 
the  family  meal,  and  goes  to  the  tailor  every  time  he  wants  a  button 
sewed  on. 

The  outdoor  work,  in  the  last  generation  in  New  England,  was  not  shared 
at  all  by  the  women,  except  as  a  matter  of  grace  in  haying  time  occasionally. 
The  writer  saw  many  country  homes  in  his  childhood,  yet  never  knew  of 
a  milkmaid.  But  sometimes  the  father  would  diplomatically  approach  a 
grown  daughter  to  induce  her  to  drive  the  horse-rake  for  an  hour  or  so, 
or  even  assist  in  making  the  load  of  hay.  Certain  coveted  ribbons,  or  a 
day  or  two  on  a  visit  to  a  relative,  after  haying,  were  understood  to  be  by 
way  of  honorarium  for  his  daughter's  complaisance. 


XXXII.    COUNTRY   COURTESY 

■  j^  VERY  human  society  worth  maintaining  has  its  decent  restrictions, 
■'^  its  interplay  of  give  and  take.  In  these  restrictions,  and  in  certain 
social  aspects,  the  farmer  is  much  of  a  gentleman.  He  may,  indeed,  be 
bothered  by  the  sequence  of  a  long  array  of  forks  at  a  banquet,  but  he 
has  the  heart  of  kindness,  which  is  the  source  and  guide  underlying  good 
manners.  City  folks  are  surprised  to  find  themselves  bowed  to  on  country 
roads.  It  is  the  innate  recognition  of  brotherhood  felt  by  all  who  face  the 
world's  work.  The  farmer  may  lack  the  nice  little  touches  of  urban  custom, 
but  on  his  own  domain  no  man  is  more  respectful,  for  he  respects  himself 
first.  And  he  is  a  good  Samaritan,  or  was  until  the  itinerant  beggar  made 
game  of  him.  No  hand  is  more  gentle  in  nursing  the  sick.  Well  we  re- 
member the  tenderness  with  which  a  farmer,  who  came  to  town  twice  a 
week,  would  lift  his  invalid  niece.  She  drew  strength  from  his  mighty 
arm,  and  looked  forward  with  gladness  to  the  hour  of  his  coming. 

In  the  old  days  discourtesy  to  women  was  an  unheard-of  thing  in  the 


1 78  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

better  parts  of  the  New  England  farming  districts,  and  we  hope  these  con- 
ditions still  prevail.  Sex  delicacy,  so  lacking  now  in  our  towns,  was  a 
supreme,  unbroken,  and  unmentioned  law.  That  element  in  the  male 
population  that  might  otherwise  have  transgressed,  ,was  held  in  stern  check 
by  the  decent  citizen,  and  fear  of  social  scorn  was  the  most  powerful 
deterrent  of  evil. 


XXXIII.    SUNDAY   IN  THE   COUNTRY 

THE  meeting-house  lot  was  cut  out  of  the  big  pasture  on  the  hill. 
Near  the  center  stood  the  church  with  the  graveyard  on  one  side 
surrounded  by  a  stone  wall.  The  big  corner  stone  nearest  the  church  had 
a  depression  which  was  understood  to  be  the  devil's  foot-print.  Where  he 
stepped  next,  deponent  saith  not.  We  fear  it  was  in  the  church  itself,  be- 
cause in  time  it  appeared  some  malign  influence  got  into  the  old  meeting- 
house. Of  course  this  visible  evidence  on  the  stone,  that  the  Evil  One 
was  snooping  about  for  his  prey,  exalted  the  graveyard  into  a  fearsome  place 
at  night.  Though  why  devil's  work  was  ever  supposed  to  be  confined  to 
the  night,  has  not  been  explained. 

The  minister  was  a  benign,  charming  man.  He  was  correct  of  speech, 
sweet  of  spirit,  and  while  not  brilliant,  shone  with  a  mild  and  steady  light 
never  subject  to  eclipse.  His  congregation  listened  to  him  with  reverence 
as  they  sat  in  the  white  painted  pews  with  buttoned  doors.  In  the  gallery 
facing  the  minister  sat  the  choir,  consisting  of  volunteers.  Though  we 
wished  that  some  had  not  volunteered,  still  the  effect  of  many  of  the  old 
fugues  was  emphatic  and  unique. 

After  the  morning  worship,  an  old  farmer  had  a  class  of  "  us  boys  "  in 
the  corner  by  the  side  of  the  pulpit.  We  can  remember,  now,  the  lesson 
which  lay  "  in  the  days  of  Herod  the  king."  It  was  before  the  time  of 
"  lesson  helps."  The  wrinkled,  heavy  brown  hand  of  the  farmer  held  the 
open  Bible,  but  the  man  himself  was  our  Bible.     As  he  walked,  thankful 


iJBB^&siai&Ei 


Iv*^;^:; 


SUNDAY    IN    THE    COUNTRY  i8i 

and  diligent  in  the  midst  of  God's  works,  he  was  always  a  powerful  sermon. 
After  the  lesson  everybody  sang  that  tender  song,  which  ran,  as  I 
remember, 

"  /  think  when  I  read  that  sweet  story  of  old. 
How  Jesus  was  here  among  men^ 
How  he  called  little  children  like  lambs  from  the  fold  — 
/  should  like  to  have  been  with  Him  then." 

It  was  all,  to  us,  a  child,  very  effective  —  the  influence  of  really  good 
people,  without  a  particle  of  cant  or  formalism.  There  was  calmness  j  the 
silence  was  broken  only  by  the  thin  note  of  the  locust.  Outside  there  was 
the  wonderful  summer  prophecy  of  good,  —  in  the  soft  grass  about  the 
steps,  the  listening  foliage  and  the  intermission  of  all  activity  that  we 
might  think  of  our  connection  with  the  unseen  world.  As  we  trudged 
homeward,  our  copper-toed  leg-boots  in  the  white  dust,  we  were  conscious 
that  the  day  had  much  of  good  and  charm. 

In  the  afternoon  we  used  to  climb  high  in  a  greening  apple  tree,  with  a 
book  of  stories  of  old  heroes  and  worthies.  Probably  the  main  impression 
of  Sunday  aside  from  that  memorable  "  going  to  meeting,"  was  the  sense 
of  release  from  week-day  tasks.  During  the  week  we  had  no  leisure  to 
listen  to  the  outside  world.  The  marvel  of  this  world,  when  the  book  we 
were  reading  dropped,  or  when  we  went  to  or  returned  from  the  meeting- 
house, never  ceased.  Every  grass  blade  was  a  miracle,  every  bumble  bee 
a  challenge  to  make  a  philosopher.  The  clouds  strolled  at  a  Sabbath  day 
gait  across  the  hilltops.  Beauty  reigned,  supreme,  mysterious,  worshipful. 
A  country  that  God  made,  and  men  loved,  a  country  that  calls  back  her 
children  from  afar!  She  has  placed  her  seal  on  their  infancy,  and  tied 
their  affections  with  cords  like  steel.  We  can  never  forget  her,  or  her 
glory  and  silent  eloquence,  especially  as  we  saw  her  on  the  summer  Sun- 
days of  our  boyhood. 


1 82  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

XXXIV.    THE   PICTURES    IN   DETAIL 

IN  the  course  of  this  book  various  pictures  shown  in  it  have  been  men- 
tioned. Here  we  refer  to  others  in  which  the  reader  may  have  interest 
or  about  which  further  information  may  be  desired. 

On  the  center  of  page  19  is  the  view  across  the  valley  of  the  Battenkill 
at  Bennington.  A  situation  overlooking  a  fertile  valley  is  perhaps  the  most 
satisfactory  country  site.  There  from  one's  window  may  be  seen  the  source 
of  much  natural  wealth.  Mills  and  city  streets,  however  imposing,  never 
convey  the  sense  of  plenty  as  does  a  cultivated  valley.  Probably  the  in- 
fluence of  heredity  is  responsible  for  the  attraction  that  growing  crops  exert. 
For  endless  generations  our  forebears  have  looked  out  on  planted  fields, 
for  even  the  most  barbarous  peoples  cultivate  land. 

The  farm  field  exercises  out  of  doors  the  same  sort  of  deep  impression 
as  the  hearth  within  doors.  There,  without,  the  year's  sustenance  is  grow- 
ing and  maturing  before  one.  Depending  on  no  whim  or  pulse  of  trade, 
removed  from  the  chances  of  lacking  employment,  the  owner  joys  in  his 
coming  harvest,  knowing  it  is  enough.  The  fields  acquire  a  charm  for  him 
apart  from  any  special  appeal  they  may  have  for  the  artist. 

The  farmer  knows  what  is  under  that  sod  or  that  ploughed  land.  He 
has  walked  over  it  many  a  year.  He  knows  what  to  do  to  it,  and  knows 
what  it  will  give  him.  The  shocks  of  yellowing  corn  are  the  continual 
witness  of  his  industry,  his  sagacity,  and  the  harmony  of  nature  with  his 
toil.  No  wild  or  far-flung  outlook  can  compare  in  attraction  with  fenced 
fields,  which  hold  on  every  square  foot  the  history  of  victory  for  the  gen- 
erations that  have  known  how  to  use  them. 

At  the  top  of  page  23  is  "  A  Mossy  Stair."  One  passes  this  scene  on  the 
way  from  Manchester  to  Peru.  The  moss  and  lichen  tinge  the  rocks  with 
olive  verdure.  The  fresh  waters  tumble  over  the  step-like  stones.  The 
shadows  from  various  waving  trees  play  over  all.  When  near  such  a  spot, 
besides  the  coolness  which  always  comes  from  falling  water,  one  feels 
a  sense  of  power  and  plenty. 


THE    PICTURES    IN    DETAIL  185 

"  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  at  the  bottom  of  page  24,  is  found  in  the  de- 
lightful nook  called  Dorset  Hollow.  The  gambrel  roof,  the  old  porch,  the 
weather-beaten  walls,  tell  of  long  adjustment  to  the  natural  world  and  be- 
speak the  comforts  within.  Without,  the  green  natural  lawn,  never  mowed, 
but  worn  down  by  farm  work,  is  the  most  pleasing  possible  environment 
of  the  farmhouse.  There  the  churning  and  sewing  are  done.  There  the 
family  sit  under  the  great  rock  maple  in  the  twilight.  There  the  neighbors 
stop  for  a  chat.  The  open  ground  under  a  tree  is  properly  called  "  Robin 
Hood's  barn,"  and  certainly  no  stately  or  pretentious  erection  of  human 
hands  can  rival  it  in  beauty,  restfulness,  freedom,  and  fine  air. 

On  the  top  of  page  27  are  the  lambs  in  August,  a  picture  called  "  The 
Favorite  Corner."  The  half  grown  lamb  is  the  most  darling  creature 
imaginable.  More  poetry  has  been  written  about  lambs  than  anybody  can 
ever  read.  A  dozen  lambs  playing  about  in  the  home  field  are  suggestive 
of  every  warm  sentiment  and  every  dear  recollection  in  the  age-long  process 
of  human  development.  Historically  speaking  we  may  fairly  presume  that 
sheep  were  the  first  animals  domesticated.  Certainly  they  are  a  finer  farm 
feature  than  any  other.  Doubly  good  for  the  farmer,  and  trebly  valuable 
as  stimulants  of  the  imagination  and  feeders  of  the  finer  rural  sentiments, 
they  are  the  jewelled  center  of  any  landscape.  In  symbolism  sheep  and 
lambs  enter  into  religion  more  intimately  than  any  other  animal.  Indeed, 
more  than  all  others  combined.  As  the  sign  of  the  Saviour,  as  the  symbol 
of  meekness  and  willingness  to  be  led,  as  the  simile  under  which  childhood 
and  fatherly  affection  are  woven  into  parable,  lambs  mean  more  to  humanity 
than  any  other  living  things  not  human. 

The  strange  obtruseness  of  law  and  custom  in  our  day  has  rendered  sheep 
raising  rare.  Dogs  harry  the  sheep,  and  no  farmer  can  for  a  moment  feel 
that  his  flock  is  safe  unless  under  his  eye.  To  the  settler  the  lambs  were 
necessary.  The  matron's  spinning  wheel  sang  and  her  loom  clanked  almost 
the  year  through,  as  the  result  of  sheep  raising.  One  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  attractive  chapters  in  the  Bible  deals  with  the  ideal  housewife  and 
interweaves  its  thought  with  the  twisted  threads  of  her  loom.  She  provides 
wool  for  her  household. 


1 86  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

It  was  common  in  the  old  days  for  a  small  boy  on  the  farm  to  have  set 
apart  for  him  a  certain  lamb  whose  wool  would  be  made  into  a  suit  for  him. 
What  delight  in  such  familiar  and  special  ordering  of  life!  When  the  boy 
passed  the  orchard  clothed  in  his  new  suit,  there  would  be  his  own  lamb 
fast  growing  another  clip  of  wool  for  another  year  and  another  suit.  The 
intimacy  of  human  life  with  nature  was  emphasized  and  glorified  by  such 
an  ideal  arrangement.  Such  an  intimacy  tended  to  develop  local  flavor, 
aroma  in  character,  and  a  sense  of  kindliness  in  the  growing  youth. 

There  are  those  students  of  social  life  who  believe  the  specialization  of 
society  will  break  down,  and  that  we  shall  return  to  the  pastoral  state.  A 
worse  fate  could  befall  society.  The  change  would  not  kill  poetry  nor 
degrade  character.  It  would,  perhaps,  favor  the  fruitage  of  many  valuable 
traits  now  stunted.  It  would  certainly  take  something  out  of  the  fret  of 
our  days  and  give  room  for  a  truer  valuation  of  life.  The  meaning  of 
existence  may  easily  be  hidden  by  the  multiplicity  of  objects  and  motives 
in  modern  society.  The  more  complex  life  becomes  the  more  unstable  and 
the  less  beautiful  it  is.  A  child  and  a  lamb  and  a  wisp  of  grass  j  an  orchard 
bough  and  the  sunlight  j  the  robin's  songj  a  mother  smiling  from  the  door 
—  these  are  the  things  that  reach  the  whole  of  simple,  deep  human  nature 
and  perhaps  all  of  the  nature  of  God.  We  are  not  fearful  of  the  future  of 
our  race  while  love  of  these  things  lies  back  of  our  society.  We  may,  per- 
haps we  ought,  perchance  we  must,  return  to  such  loves  —  near  to  the  breast 
of  the  kindly  earth.  These  are  the  loves  without  fever  which  result  in  no 
regret,  which  open  the  mind  without  guile. 

On  page  28,  at  the  bottom,  is  an  active  haying  scene.  In  all  the  New 
England  states  hay  is  an  important  crop,  but  in  Vermont  it  ranks  as  a  chief 
product.  Converted  into  butter,  cheese,  and  meat  for  market,  it  brings  her 
much  revenue. 

The  beauty  of  the  waving  fields  of  grass  in  flower  is  scarcely  surpassed 
by  any  other  natural  scene.  And  to  be  best  for  the  herd  and  sweetest  to 
its  taste  it  must  be  cut  in  the  flower.  The  old  method  was  to  start  into 
a  field  a  crew  of  men,  the  leader  of  whom  set  the  pace  for  the  others.    The 


THE    PICTURES    IN    DETAIL  189 

swing  of  the  scythe  in  heavy  grass  tested  the  muscle  and  skill  of  the  best 
man,  especially  after  the  first  hour.  At  the  end  of  the  swath  all  stopped 
to  whet  their  scythes  with  the  long  narrow  stone  carried  in  a  pocket  made 
for  the  purpose  in  the  blue  overalls.  The  only  other  garment  worn  was  a 
shirt,  and  sometimes  even  that  was  discarded.  The  ability  of  a  youth 
to  keep  up  with  the  good  mower  in  the  field  was  the  final  badge  of  man- 
hood. Sometimes  an  old  man  who  looked  incapable  of  much  exertion 
would,  after  the  first  swath,  set  a  killing  pace.  His  knack  for  mowing,  as 
well  as  main  strength  would  return  to  him,  and  he  would  show  "  the  boys  " 
how  it  was  done. 

The  less  sturdy  or  less  skilful  were  obliged  to  narrow  the  swath  in  order 
to  keep  up  with  him.  It  was  a  disgrace  to  keep  the  pace  down.  The 
practised  eye  of  the  mower  quickly  took  in  the  breadth  and  the  smoothness 
of  the  cut.  A  good  man  was  known  by  the  path  he  left  behind  him.  In 
this  rigorous  but  just  school  there  could  be  no  pretence.  Power  and  skill 
won.  It  was  a  school  for  character.  The  dissipated  might  start  in  bravely, 
but  as  the  sun  waxed  hotter  and  the  levelled  spears  of  grass  lay  behind  him, 
any  looseness  of  life  would  tell  in  the  stroke.    Dutch  courage  had  no  place. 

As  the  hours  went  on  a  boy  would  come  over  from  the  house  with  a 
miniature  wooden  barrel  carried  by  a  strap  slung  over  his  shoulder.  The 
contents  of  this  country  canteen  had  possibly  best  be  left  by  us  without 
investigation.  But  human  curiosity  is  a  persistent  quality.  In  the  earliest 
time  very  strong  waters  were  working  under  the  wood.  It  was  thought 
men  could  neither  mow  well  in  the  field  nor  fight  well  on  a  man-of-war 
without  rum.  In  later  times  the  cider  of  the  previous  season  was  used. 
It  had  plenty  of  tang.  It  was  to  the  American  farmer  what  wine  is  to  the 
Frenchman.  After  the  great  wave  of  temperance  reform  a  mixture  of 
sugar  and  ginger  in  water  was  the  usual  beverage.  This  is  what  the  writer 
remembers  in  his  childhood,  but  with  no  particular  sense  of  longing.  It 
was  no  nectar  of  the  gods. 

The  mowing  was  done  early  in  the  day  before  the  full  power  of  the  sun 
asserted  itself.    Six  o'clock  saw  the  crew  bending  their  backs  to  the  sweep 


190  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

of  the  scythe.  An  important  reason  for  such  early  labor  was  that  the  sun 
might  get  as  long  a  time  as  possible  for  turning  the  grass  into  hay.  Some- 
what late  grass,  not  too  heavy,  could  on  very  clear  hot  days  be  cured  and 
in  the  barn  the  day  it  was  cut.  Usually  it  must  be  raked  into  windrows  and 
heaped  into  neat  cocks  at  night,  during  which  time  it  heated  somewhat. 
Opened  the  following  morning  and  shaken  out,  it  was  ready  that  day  for 
storage. 

The  great  and  looming  danger  was  from  rain.  The  crop  was  sometimes 
steeped  when  nearly  dry  by  a  heavy  shower,  and  a  great  part  of  its  value 
destroyed.  The  weather-wise  person  was  always  in  demand.  Everyone 
in  the  field  was  ready  to  forecast  the  day's  sky-changes,  and  some,  as  usual, 
were  wise  and  some  were  foolish. 

The  bright,  faintly  green,  fragrant  hay  in  the  great  mow  was  a  sight 
to  gladden  man  and  beast.  As  it  was  thrown  down  at  feeding  time  and 
scattered  before  the  eager  cattle  it  helped  to  compose  a  picturesque  scene, 
often  neglectd  by  the  artist.  The  height  of  the  mow  was  carefully  watched 
by  the  farmer  as  the  season  advanced.  By  the  quantity  of  hay  on  hand 
he  regulated  his  purchases  or  sales  of  stock,  and  sometimes  he  sold  or 
bought  hay.  In  the  corners  by  the  posts  or  in  odd  nooks  the  hens  would 
steal  their  nests.  The  farmer's  boy  was  supposed  to  search  carefully  over 
the  surface  of  the  mows.  He  was  sometimes  rewarded  by  a  good  nestful 
of  eggs.  The  hens  got  no  small  part  of  their  rations  from  the  grass  seeds 
that  sifted  from  the  day's  feeding  of  the  cattle. 

In  "  Better  than  Mowing,"  on  page  222,  we  see  an  alleged  farmer,  in 
the  fair  valley  of  the  Battenkill,  resting  his  back  by  tickling  the  backs  of 
the  fishes. 

In  "  Fording  the  Upper  Connecticut,"  page  143,  we  see  the  great  load 
being  drawn  homeward. 

The  modern  haying  methods  have  changed,  but  a  strong  back  is  still 
essential  for  harvesting  a  hay  crop.  The  racking  motion  of  the  mowing- 
machine  seat  is  stimulating  to  the  circulation.  Ordinarily  no  more  practi- 
cal method  on  the  farm  of  average  size,  except  sheer  lifting,  is  available 


THE    PICTURES    IN    DETAIL  193 

for  loading  the  hay.  The  pitcher  sets  his  fork  in  deeply  and  swings  to  the 
load  a  weighty  mass.  The  breaking  of  a  fork  handle  is  not  unusual,  and 
the  pitcher  is  not  half  ashamed  of  such  an  event.  A  good  man  and  a  good 
fork,  however,  last  long.  The  supple  ash  bears  a  shrewd  spring,  and  an 
experienced  pitcher  knows  how  to  make  the  handle  a  lasting  and  efiFectual 
extension  of  his  good  right  arm. 

The  hay  pressers  who  travel  over  a  country  where  hay  is  sold  conduct 
a  picturesque  labor.  The  hay  is  thrown  rapidly  into  the  form  made  to 
receive  it,  and  was  formerly  compressed  by  horse  power  into  bales  held  to- 
gether by  wooden  hoops. 

The  marketing  of  loose  hay  was  a  few  years  since  also  a  pleasant  sight. 
Some  of  the  simpler  days  of  great  cities  was  marked  by  that  proceeding, 
as  the  names  of  sections  show,  Haymarket  Square  in  Boston  being  a  case 
in  evidence.  In  those  days  the  oxen  or  horses  drew  to  town  a  large  load 
very  carefully  trimmed  to  workman-like  proportions.  A  buyer  was 
awaited,  and  the  ,wits  of  buyer  and  seller  were  pitted  till  a  bargain  was 
struck.  Meantime  the  beasts  had  their  fodder,  and  the  farmer  his  snack 
of  hard  molasses  gingerbread.  On  the  homeward  journey  he  carried  on 
the  bottom  of  his  now  empty  rack  any  supplies  necessary:  a  barrel  of  flour, 
a  jug  of  molasses,  a  dried  codfish,  or  a  stick  of  smoked  herring.  Perhaps, 
if  matters  were  going  well  with  him,  gingham  for  a  gown  was  added  to 
his  store,  and  he  was  hardly  at  peace  with  the  world  until  he  heard  his 
wife's  comment  on  the  figure  of  the  goods. 

The  boy  sometimes  went  up  to  town  with  the  farmer,  perched  high  on 
the  load,  on  his  way  to  the  academy,  and  the  price  of  the  hay  ,was  passed 
by  the  calloused  hand  of  the  father  to  the  equally  calloused  hand  of  the  boy. 

Anybody  who  wanted  work  on  a  farm  carried  his  recommendation  in 
his  palm.  No  farmer  would  hire  delicate  hands  to  work  for  him.  It  was 
a  wonderful  life,  but  some  weakened. 

The  old  stage  coach  shown  in  "  An  Eventful  Journey,"  on  page  35, 
brings  back  an  important  feature  of  the  bygone  time. 

We  remember  a  thirty  mile  journey  on  such  a  vehicle  through  the 


194  VERMONT   BEAUTIFUL 

country  from  a  small  city  to  a  large  village,  in  the  hot  summer  time.  There 
were  many  stations  where  we  left  and  took  mail  bags,  almost  invariably 
at  a  village  store  where  everything  was  sold.  While  the  American  stage 
coach  never  came  up  with  echoing  horn,  the  smartness  and  the  eclat  of 
the  English  coach,  it  was  nevertheless  an  arrival  of  no  small  import,  espe- 
cially, as  was  often  the  case,  when  it  ran  only  two  or  three  times  a  week. 

On  such  a  journey,  in  the  forties  and  fifties,  and  even  a  score  of  years 
later,  the  pretty  city  cousin  would  go  on  a  visit  to  her  country  cousin,  and 
if  a  youngster  of  an  impressionable  age  —  anything  below  four-score  years 
—  was  also  a  passenger  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  and  listen,  he  per- 
haps found  himself  at  the  day's  end  minus  a  heart  and  plus  a  responsibility 
for  life.  The  back  seat  of  a  stage  coach  was  not  the  worst  place  for  a 
flirtation  more  or  less  serious.  The  lurch  of  the  vehicle  around  corners 
caused  some  natural  stir  within  the  coach  which  resulted  in  breaking  the  ice 
of  reserve.  Conversation  naturally  followed.  The  young  lady  might  refer 
to  certain  books,  of  which  she  knew  very  little,  and  the  youth  might  re- 
spond by  assents  about  books  of  which  he  knew  nothing  at  all.  For  it  was 
a  trifle  of  a  disgrace  in  those  days  for  a  young  man  to  know  a  novel. 

Sometimes  the  stage  moving  through  a  back  country  paused  long  enough 
for  the  collection  of  a  hatful  of  apples,  picked  from  the  roadside  where 
they  had  dropped  by  the  wall.  Sometimes  a  maiden  would  step  lightly 
from  the  coach  and  gather  the  flowers  by  the  way.  On  the  crests  of  fair 
hills  the  passengers  would  look  out  on  an  unaccustomed  country  rolling 
beneath  them,  with  its  streams,  forests,  and  fields.  The  corn,  luscious 
green,  to  be  eaten  for  dinner  at  the  innj  the  sheep  herded  in  the  green 
pastures  j  the  white  clouds  sailing  in  the  skyj  the  farms,  and  their  invitation 
to  a  possible  purchaser  by  the  sign,  "  For  Sale  "  —  all  occupied  the  pas- 
senger's time  as  fully  as  the  prayer  meeting  did  at  home.  And  to  think 
that  a  little  gasoline  wagon  has  succeeded  this  stage-coach  poetry! 


•  -■rK','»Sy«f.-;-AX«BMW8?f' 


AS    IN    A    WINDOW  197 

XXXV.    AS   IN   A   WINDOW 

^  I  ^HE  picture  called  "  As  in  a  Window,"  on  page  39,  suggests  a  little 
-*-  essay  on  what  makes  a  picture  beautiful  or  appealing.  While  we 
cannot  always  say  why  one  thing  is  beautiful  and  another  is  ugly,  we  can 
sometimes  find  probable  reasons  for  aesthetic  appeals. 

A  necessary  feature  of  a  perfect  landscape  would  seem  to  be  such  a  con- 
tour as  would  lead  the  eye  from  the  viewpoint  to  a  distance  —  as  if  the 
soul  of  beauty  demanded  to  be  carried  on  from  the  present  situation  to 
one  beyond.  If  this  is  true  then  there  is  something  deeper  in  aesthetics 
than  perfection  of  form  and  color.  In  them  is  inherent  the  thought  that 
all  good  things  lead  to  better  things.  If  the  object  that  leads  the  eye  away 
is  not  a  stream,  it  may  be  a  road,  a  path,  or  a  long  valley.  On  the  contrary, 
a  certain  house  may  be  so  located  as  to  look  across  a  valley  at  a  range  of 
hills  standing  like  a  wall  and  cutting  off  further  vision.  There  is  very 
little  of  appeal  in  such  a  prospect.  There  may  indeed  be  a  challenge  to 
the  imagination  to  picture  what  is  beyond  that  wall.  But  it  is  openings  and 
not  barriers  that  stir  the  beholder  most  deeply.  Thus  the  quaint  old  en- 
graving, "  The  Voyage  of  Life,"  was  very  popular  as  depicting  an  advance. 
Probably  Bunyan's  idea  in  picturing  by  allegory  life  as  a  pilgrimage  had 
much  to  do  with  the  popularity  of  his  Pilgrim^s  Progress.  The  pilgrims 
to  the  shrine  at  Canterbury  were  much  impressed  we  are  told  by  the  beauti- 
ful approach  to  the  high  altar  of  the  cathedral.  As  if  it  were  a  way  to 
heaven,  it  elevated  their  thoughts  and  led  them  on  to  higher  things. 

It  may,  therefore,  be  laid  down  as  the  primary  and  possibly  invariable 
principle  of  landscape  beauty,  that  the  suggestion  of  an  opening  possible 
for  the  beholder  to  follow,  is  the  proper  center  of  a  picture.  If  here  and 
there,  as  in  the  case  of  Ruskin's  famous  drawing  of  a  thorn  tree  a  portrait 
is  secured,  there  is  indeed  an  interest,  but  it  is  the  same  interest  that  centers 
on  a  piece  of  embroidery.  It  is  special,  not  universal.  It  is  without  the 
best  element  of  beauty. 

When  the  scene  has  in  the  foreground  some  human  feature  like  Con- 


198  VERMONT   BEAUTIFUL 

stable's  "  Hay  Wain,"  we  are  perhaps  satisfied  by  a  foreground,  because 
in  it  there  is  so  much  that  is  sweet  and  homely.  But  even  in  such  cases  a 
sky  beyond  attracts  and  there  is  seldom  a  picture  in  which  a  vista  is  not 
better  than  a  merely  immediate  view. 

In  a  way  this  is  astonishing,  because,  as  a  second  element  of  attractive 
pictorial  work  the  foreground  must  not  only  be  interesting  but  must  absorb 
most  of  the  interest.  The  perfect  picture,  therefore,  begins  well  and  ends 
well.  Attending  to  distance  only,  is  not  enough.  One  may  say,  ap- 
parently in  a  paradox,  that  the  distance  is  uninteresting  without  a  fore- 
ground.   "  The  call  of  the  road  "  begins  where  we  are  and  goes  on. 

There  is,  however,  another  deeper  and  commonly  recognized  law:  no 
one  sees  anything  in  a  picture  except  what  is  in  one's  self.  This  is  why 
the  unfamiliar  is  less  interesting  than  the  familiar.  People  care  far  less 
for  pictures  of  distant  and  exotic  scenes  than  for  those  near  at  hand.  We 
have  reference  to  the  vast  majority.  In  a  university  town  classical  pictures 
are  popular  because  the  minds  of  the  people  have  been  turned  toward 
classical  things.  Portraiture  is  always  popular  because  we  know,  or  think 
we  know,  more  about  people  than  about  things. 

A  picture  also  has  more  appeal  if  it  speaks  to  experience  or  leads  the  be- 
holder to  interpret.  If  we  see  a  shady  lane  pictured  we  are  called  to  its 
coolness.  If  the  ocean  surges  are  depicted  we  wish  to  bathe  in  them,  or, 
if  they  are  too  fierce,  the  masculine  impulse  rises  to  fight  them.  That  is 
why  marine  pictures  are  seldom  liked  by  women. 

Likewise  pictures  showing  action  are  not  liked  when  one  is  weary. 
Masterful  pictures  require  beholders  in  a  masterful  mood. 

Sentiment  in  pictures  is  carefully  portrayed  by  the  Dutch  painters.  Their 
domestic  scenes  are  ever  appealing.  Even  their  drinking  scenes  won  ap- 
proval from  the  almost  universally  drinking  public.  The  appeal  to  the 
sense  of  precision,  of  truth,  of  fidelity,  in  representation  also  meets  a  re- 
sponse in  minds  who  love  excellence.  It  is  because  there  is  a  lack  of  regard 
for  truth  that  the  present  shameless  fad  for  cubism  can  exist.  No  one  can 
love  it  who  loves  careful  work  —  not  patch  work.    If  nature  is  said  to  be  a 


AS    IN    A    WINDOW  201 

cubist  in  her  broken  crag  formations,  that  is  because  she  has  not  finished 
her  work.     Give  her  time  and  her  landscapes  gain  the  touch  of  perfection. 

A  sense  of  contrast,  also,  often  exercises  a  potent  charm  in  a  picture. 
Thus  a  lovely  flower  growing  out  of  a  rock  tends  to  rouse  the  incipient 
capacity  for  comparison.  Contrast  is  only  one  aspect  of  comparison  —  the 
most  striking  aspect.  That  is,  it  shows  the  greatest  degree  of  unlikeness, 
and  therefore  arrests  attention.  If  a  dark  pine  tree  is  outlined  against  an 
azure  sky  it  succeeds  in  calling  attention,  which  is  the  first  step  toward 
making  a  student.  Some  painters  are  very  careful  to  avoid  contrasts.  They 
are  of  a  quiet  nature  themselves  and  do  not  recognize  the  interest  that 
contrast  may  have  for  persons  of  a  contrary  temperament.  But  a  certain 
degree  of  contrast  is  necessary  to  any  outlines  at  all,  either  in  life  or  art. 
It  is  only  a  question  of  how  violent  the  contrast  should  be.  We  can  seldom 
hope  to  find  agreement  on  matters  of  taste.  It  is  by  divergences  and 
clashes  of  opinion  that  the  various  aspects  of  truth  or  beauty  are  set  forth, 
and  so  the  world  gains. 

The  moralizing  stirred  by  pictures  is  an  element  of  interest.  There  is 
endless  and  silly  ridicule  of  moralizing.  The  reason  lies  not  in  dislike  of  it, 
but  in  the  fact  that  we  all  like  it  so  well  we  cannot  bear  to  indulge  it  in 
others.  Everybody  is  moralizing  all  the  time  when  he  is  normal,  and  most 
of  the  time  when  he  is  abnormal.  The  entire  natural  world  being  an  end- 
less storehouse  of  symbols,  we  are  reminded  by  what  we  see  of  what  we 
cannot  see.  Philosophical  and  religious  language  grew  up  out  of  the 
common  visions  and  common  words  of  the  race.  Thus  "  spirit "  comes 
from  a  Latin  word  which  means  "  to  blow,"  or  the  "  wind." 

Any  painting,  therefore,  which  suggests  images  of  things  not  seen  at 
once  doubles  its  interest.  More  than  that,  the  conceit  of  the  beholder  that 
he  is  seeing  deeper  into  the  subject  redounds  in  his  mind  to  the  benefit  of 
the  painting  itself.  So,  as  many  things  are  seen  in  Browning  which  Brown- 
ing did  not  see  himself,  many  may  see  in  a  picture  what  the  painter  did 
not  see.  But  if  the  beholder  thinks  the  painter  saw  it,  the  pleasure  in  the 
picture  is  enhanced.  The  artist  is  not  at  handj  others  interpret  for  him 
without  interruption.     That  is  their  pleasure  and  privilege. 


202  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

So  far  has  the  habit  of  seeing  an  occult,  or  second  meaning,  in  pictures 
and  in  life  in  general  been  carried,  that  a  school  in  philosophy  has  arisen 
to  maintain  that  the  second  meaning  is  the  more  important,  and  the  mean- 
ing for  which  the  work  or  the  life  exists. 

The  comical  tendency  to  see  the  face  of  a  man  or  the  shape  of  a  beast 
in  some  natural  feature  like  a  tree  or  a  cliff  arises  out  of  a  subconscious 
tendency,  old  as  the  race,  to  look  beyond  and  behind  things  for  the  message 
which  is  always  being  sought  from  the  infinite. 

But  who  has  ever  explained  satisfactorily  the  artistic  revulsion  from  new 
things?  In  any  landscape  we  demand  the  quality  of  mellowness.  Why  is 
it  that  the  most  surperb  edifice  is  uninteresting,  artistically,  in  comparison 
with  an  old  edifice?  The  spick-and-span  have  no  attraction.  Is  it  the 
deep-down  natural  quest  for  the  assistance  of  nature  in  our  work?  Is  it  the 
desire  to  gain  dignity  through  age?  Is  it  that  precise  order  and  newness 
are  unnatural  and  so  offensive?  Frankly  it  is  hard  to  say.  But  it  is  certain 
that  an  old  cottage  under  whose  shingles  the  vine  has  penetrated  so  as  to 
admit  decay  and  cold  is  interesting  artistically  while  a  new  cottage  is  not. 

But  the  work  of  nature  seldom  looks  new.  She  shows  her  hand  rarely 
in  floods  and  earthquakes  and  scars  the  earth  by  them.  As  a  practice  she 
endows  every  inert  thing  with  softness  and  the  suggestion  of  age.  Growths 
themselves  springing  so  naturally  out  of  what  has  been,  do  not  suggest 
newness  J  only  freshness  and  beauty. 

Inevitably  all  men  are  antiquarians.  True,  some  are  more  so  than  others. 
But  the  charm  of  the  past  has  a  place  in  every  normal  mind.  This  appears 
not  only  in  art,  but  in  laws  that  no  longer  have  any  use,  and  in  the  natural 
caution  of  our  old  race  not  to  take  on  something  we  have  got  along  pretty 
well  without.  Possibly  our  sense  of  the  solidarity  of  nature,  and  of  the 
universal  and  timeless  relations  of  life  that  is,  and  with  life  that  was  and 
shall  be,  are  reflected  in  our  shrinking  from  and  our  depictions  of  any- 
thing that  has  not  borne  the  test  of  time. 

But  the  final  word  about  any  art  must  be  the  admission  of  the  mystery 
in  which  it  is  enshrouded.    We  may  try  to  explain  it  that  effort  may  be  a 


T»X  -         '  »  I*' 


SUGGESTED    PROTECTION  205 

mark  of  growth,  of  a  rising  power  in  the  mind  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  life. 
But  there  is  charm  in  mystery.  The  most  fascinating  aspects  of  art  are 
those  which  we  cannot  explain.  There  is  more  in  art,  because  it  is  a  part 
of  life,  than  we  can  ever  hope  to  understand.  It  is  ever  a  picture  of  reality, 
and  as  it  goes  on  its  groping  way  it  may  rise  to  new  understandings. 

Meantime  we  may  joy  in  the  sunset  because  it  holds  more  than  we  under- 
stand j  thus  we  may  feel  enriched  that  the  universal  mind  of  which  we  are 
a  part  is  inexhaustible  j  that  it  has  new  beauties  to  be  observed,  new  mean- 
ings to  be  discovered,  new  powers  for  us  to  wield.  And  these  are  new  only 
as  discoveries  are  new.  They  existed  before  we  did.  We  are  new  to  them } 
and  the  pleasure  of  living  arises  from  relating  ourselves  at  as  many  points 
as  possible  with  the  timeless  things.  Thus,  "  art  is  long  and  time  is 
fleeting." 

There  would  be  no  glory  in  the  autumn  scene  we  look  at  if  in  it  we 
were  beholding  the  last  autumn.  We  know  that  all  the  color  we  see 
has  been  preserved  and  will  be  preserved  by  the  alchemy  of  nature.  The 
spring  is  the  opening  of  an  eternal  succession,  even  as  the  ancient  allegory 
of  the  Greeks  saw  it. 


XXXVI.    SUGGESTED    PROTECTION   AS   A 
QUALITY   IN   PICTURES 

AT  the  bottom  of  page  66  is  a  peep  through  trees  on  the  Winooski, 
near  Montpelier.  The  sense  of  a  protection  in  overarching  trees  is 
doubtless  the  secret  of  much  of  their  charm.  One  dreams  of  sitting  under 
the  boughs  by  this  fair  shore,  and,  safe  one's  self,  looking  out  at  the  glory 
beyond.  Thus  tree  branches,  which  doubtless  formed  the  first  roof  for  man, 
have  never  lost  their  charm  for  him.  They  form  beneath  their  growth  his 
natural  home. 

So  much  of  the  history  of  our  race,  even  to  the  present  time,  has  been 
occupied  with  defending  life  that  whatever  savors  of  protection  has  its 


2o6  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

appeal  to  us.    It  is  in  our  blood,  like  the  huntsman's  love  of  game-seeking, 
which  is  so  rooted  in  many  men  that  they  annually  return  to  it. 

Anything  that  forms  a  bower,  therefore,  like  the  birches  on  page  6o,  ap- 
peals to  the  home-seeking  instinct,  and  it  is  surprising  when  the  tally  of  all 
the  pictures  we  love  has  been  made,  how  many  depict  some  defensive  or 
protective  feature.  One  has  only  to  run  through  the  pages  of  this  book  to 
find  that  the  pictures  he  likes  best  are  marked  by  such  features. 


XXXVII.    THE   LOVE   OF   FOUNTAINS 

ONE  would  like  to  see  collected  all  the  literature  connected  with  foun- 
tains. In  the  Orient,  where  water  is  scarce,  at  least  in  the  classic 
Orient,  fountains  play  a  large  part  in  the  poetry  of  life  as  well  as  in  its 
practical  side. 

The  source  of  the  brook,  as  that  on  page  83,  where  a  forest  fountain 
pours  out  its  waters,  never  loses  its  fascination.  The  most  impressive 
natural  scene  the  writer  remembers  was  the  great  gushing  up  from  almost 
level  ground  of  the  springs  in  Florida  which  form  a  river  at  the  fountain 
itself.  The  ancients  built  altars,  as  to  a  god,  at  the  remarkable  springs  of 
the  Jordan  which  well  out  from  a  mountain  side  in  sudden  profusion. 
It  was  not  the  only  instance.  The  bubbling  spring  in  the  grassy  meadow 
always  had  its  almost  icy  cool  water,  so  sought  in  haying  time.  Even 
modern  science  has  failed  to  account  for  the  great  springs  of  Florida.  It 
is  no  marvel  that  to  the  ancients  springs  were  wholly  mysterious.  Yet 
their  mystery  was  not  fearful,  but  beneficent.  Apparently  the  deity  who 
controlled  the  water  wished  well  to  his  worshippers.  Purity  and  con- 
stancy and  plenty  were  among  his  attributes.  Health  sat  at  the  margin  of 
the  pool,  and  verdure  drank  in  life  there.  Fountains  were  not  only  temple 
sites,  but  springs  of  the  Muses. 


GOOD    THINGS   PREPARED  209 

XXXVIII.    GOOD   THINGS    PREPARED 

ON  page  91  is  a  little  old  abandoned  cottage  among  the  apple  trees. 
It  is  an  ideal  site  for  a  homestead.  Why  was  it  ever  abandoned? 
The  Yankee  has  not  the  Celtic  love  for  his  home  acres.  The  Teutonic 
people  ever  had  roving  feet.  Yet  here  in  this  joyous  nest  between  apple 
boughs,  in  rich  luscious  grass,  in  near  view  of  noble  hills,  by  a  streamside, 
in  a  fertile  valley,  not  far  from  a  market  town,  is  this  abandoned  para- 
dise. The  Bible  represents  our  first  parents  as  driven  out  from  bliss. 
Their  descendents  have  been  worse  than  they.  For  we  have  not  known 
enough  to  abide  in  paradise  when  she  cradled  us  and  crooned  to  us,  and 
spread  her  enchantments  about  us.  Wherever  they  have  wandered,  who 
were  born  in  this  forsaken  home,  they  have  reached  nothing  as  beautiful, 
nothing  better  capable  of  nourishing  a  full  and  sweet  life.  Sometime 
some  gifted  soul  will  tell  the  story  of  this  dumb  house,  and  unfold  the 
procession  of  history  in  which  the  edifice  has  had  part. 

Men  go  into  forbidding  regions  where  nature  is  grudging,  where  the 
endless  dry  prairies  stretch  their  monotonous  lengths  before  one.  With- 
out timber,  without  stone,  surrounded  by  weed  the  only  material  for  their 
architecture,  they  found  new  homes,  afar  from  what  they  love  and  know. 
They  live  in  naturally  treeless  regions,  without  variety,  without  any 
known  history,  without  the  benefits  of  an  old  society.  And  then  they 
call  their  existence  life.  There  is  more  of  sentiment,  of  beauty,  of  profit 
even,  in  the  old  home  acre  than  in  the  new.  The  soft  pines  call  them  back, 
the  brook  complains  of  their  absence. 

We  must  presume  that  men  know  what  they  seek  in  life,  and  therefore 
that  the  location  of  their  homes  is  a  deliberate  choice.  To  be  sure  most 
men  must  live  where  they  can  thrive.  But  back  of  all  this  is  the  possibility, 
nay  even  probability  that  vast  numbers  of  men  are  deceived  as  to  what 
furnishes  the  better  things  of  life.  It  is  conceivable  that  some  men  may 
dwell,  and  cause  their  wives  to  dwell,  in  tawdry  or  dreary  surroundings 
owing  to  the  hope  of  greater  gain.     But  such  persons  are  gaining  only  a 


210  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

little  bit  of  the  world  and  losing  their  own  souls.  Is  not  the  first  question 
for  a  young  husband  and  wife,  where  can  we  rear  healthy  children,  and 
surround  them  so  that  they  may  grow  in  the  best  knowledge? 

The  fact  that  millions  of  children  are  growing  up  in  filthy  city  streets, 
dodging,  sometimes  successfully,  the  motor  truck,  is  proof  that  millions 
are  careless  of  their  offspring.  Such  parents  plainly  say,  "  We  love  other 
things  better  than  our  children's  welfare."  The  person  who  chooses  four 
rooms  on  a  third  floor  for  his  family  rather  than  a  cottage  outlook  such 
as  is  shown  either  on  page  91  or  page  92  is  either  of  low  mentality  or  low 
morality.  One  who  prefers  to  walk  home  after  work  through  filth,  and 
between  hot  walls  rather  than  on  such  roads  as  fork  on  page  103  may  think 
he  is  sane,  but  is  he?  If  he  prefers  to  gaze  on  a  blank  wall  rather  than  on 
a  river  valley  such  as  page  108  shows  there  is  something  wrong  with  him. 
Whatever  it  is  it  is  costing  him  too  much  to  live  as  he  lives. 


XXXIX.    PICTURES   OF   FLOWERS 

TT  TE  have  lately  noted  a  revival  of  the  fashion  which  placed  pictures 
~  '  of  flowers  in  dining  rooms.  It  is  a  good  sign  of  an  increasing  love 
of  flowers.  Masses  of  fine  color  such  as  pictures  of  that  sort  furnish  are 
the  next  best  thing  to  the  flowers  themselves.  For  the  pictures  provide 
constant  and  unfading  beauty. 

Floral  wall  papers  have  long  been  in  fashion  —  too  long.  The  repeti- 
tion on  a  wall  of  hundreds  of  identical  floral  decorations  is  enough  to 
madden  anybody,  not  to  confine  our  thought  to  artists.  It  is  far  better, 
if  the  wall  is  such  that  it  must  be  covered,  to  paint  it  or  to  paper  it  in  a 
neutral  tint  and  then  to  place  floral  groups  here  and  there  like  panels. 
Thus  a  repetition  of  the  same  thing  is  avoided,  and  one  is  induced  to  at- 
tend to  the  particular  beauty  of  one  group  after  another. 

This  subject  might  be  enlarged  profitably  by  a  consideration  of  wall 
papers  in  general,  did  space  serve.  At  least  let  us  say,  let  no  fad  be  followed. 


PICTURES    OF    FLOWERS  213 

merely  because  it  is  a  fad.  The  reason  often  given  for  covering  walls  with 
paper  is  that  it  is  desired  to  make  the  home  cheerful!  Any  normal  mind 
is  effected  by  the  result  with  anything  but  cheerfulness.  Or,  one  will 
say,  "  We  have  put  old  fashioned  papers  on  our  walls,"  with  the  emphasis 
on  the  "  old." 

In  the  present  return  to  many  of  the  tastes  and  customs  of  our  ancestors 
the  superficial  person  has  often  missed  the  point  entirely.  For  the  sane, 
the  praiseworthy  fashion  is  of  course  to  return  to  the  old  fashion  merely 
as  it  had  charm,  or  merit,  or  any  thing  worthy  in  it.  For  nothing  is  good 
merely  for  its  age.  We  have  heard  of  two  or  three  instances  where  plumb- 
ing was  omitted  from  old  or  restored  old  houses,  because  "  They  did  not 
have  plumbing  in  those  days!  " 

Unless  the  fashion  of  reviving  the  past  is  to  be  marked  with  some  dis- 
crimination it  will  soon  lose  credit,  and  will  deserve  to  do  so. 

There  are,  let  us  be  frank,  many  old  customs  which  we  cannot  too  soon, 
or  too  completely  forget.  The  charm  and  worth  of  modern  life  will  consist 
in  the  discrimination  with  which  it  selects  the  best  of  the  past  and  incorpo- 
rates it  in  the  present. 

Some  raise  the  question  whether  incongruity  and  bad  taste  may  not  result 
from  such  a  selection.  The  incongruity  and  bad  taste  consists  in  mixing 
various  forms  of  architecture  or  alleged  architecture,  in  one  building,  and 
placing  in  one  room,  furniture  of  several  periods  or  of  no  period  at  all. 

A  consistent  old  fashioned  interior  is  easily  attained  without  the  incon- 
veniences of  the  past,  and  without  adopting  all  the  old-time  decoration. 
For  a  wall  covered  with  wood  is  a  still  older  form  of  finish  than  a  wall 
covered  with  paper.  At  best  paper  is  a  poor  and  mean  makeshift,  and  when 
first  used  it  frankly  admitted  itself  to  be  a  substitution  for  something  better. 
This  appears  in  the  panels  in  wall  papers  of  the  earliest  sort,  in  which 
wooden  panels  are  imitated.  Of  course  the  landscape  paper,  as  it  can- 
not too  often  be  said,  was  for  the  use  of  persons  who  could  not  afford 
pictures.  So  far  is  that  fact  forgotten,  that  pictures  are  very  generally 
seen  placed  over  figured  wall  paper  —  a  practice  in  very  bad  taste,  unless 


214  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

the  figures  are  small  and  unobtrusive  in  color.  The  obvious  reason  for 
hanging  a  picture  is  to  afford  pleasure  or  instruction,  or  both.  So  pictures 
are  hung  —  and  sometimes  executed  —  by  every  household. 

But  the  eye  is  confused  by  mixed  colors  surrounding  a  picture,  and  still 
more  is  it  confused  if  picture  is  overlaid  on  picture.  The  excellent  rea- 
son for  surrounding  water  colors  with  wide,  quiet  margins  is  to  enhance 
the  effect  of  the  water  colors.  The  first  object,  therefore  of  a  housewife 
in  Vermont  or  elsewhere,  is  to  avoid  multiplicity  of  details  on  any  wall,  or 
indeed  anywhere  in  or  around  her  home. 

The  call  of  good  taste  is  for  emphasis  on  something  good  and  worth  while. 
Therefore  we  must  have  fewer  and  better  objects  on  our  walls  and  our 
floors.  Overloaded  horses  have  a  redress,  sometimes,  in  a  society  organized 
to  protect  them.  Overloaded  houses  have  no  legal  means  of  relief.  We  re- 
member one  parlor  wall  —  and  it  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  wainscot 
walls  in  America  —  on  which,  on  one  side  of  a  room,  over  fifty  objects 
were  hung,  drawn,  or  quartered.  The  effect  was  distressing,  but  not  to  the 
owner,  who  had  indulged  what  she  spoke  of  as  her  own  taste.  In  the 
same  room,  on  another  wall,  was  one  very  large  and  exquisite  family  por- 
trait done  by  a  master.  Here  the  owner  had  before  her  eyes  continually 
a  good  and  a  bad,  and  she  was  the  author  of  the  bad  and  liked  it.  Is  it 
remarkable  that  some  despair  of  educating  the  people  in  good  taste?  In  the 
instance  quoted  —  in  respect  to  culture  far  from  a  probable  reader  of  this 
book  —  the  family  was  old  and  distinguished.  They  had  thought  it  worth 
while  to  be  educated  in  everything  good,  except  in  those  things  always 
nearest  and  most  obvious  —  their  walls  and  their  furniture. 

Good  pictures  are  expensive,  it  is  said,  and  therefore  the  advice  given 
above  is  impracticable  to  most  people.  Noj  steel  engravings  and  many  other 
good  engravings  are  very  inexpensive.  Even  water  colors  in  good  taste, 
if  confined,  we  will  say,  to  floral  representations  need  not  be  expensive. 
Many  housewives  have  themselves  decorated  their  walls  very  prettily  and 
without  offending  persons  of  fastidious  taste. 

Sometimes  wall  papers  are  encouraged  on  the  score  of  their  cleanliness. 


GARDEN    ARRANGEMENT  217 

But  a  painted  wall  surpasses  them  in  this  respect.  Wall  paper  to  be  kept 
fresh  must  be  renewed.  A  painted  wall  of  plaster  or  of  wood,  whether 
painted  or  not,  may  be  washed  whenever  the  housewife  desires.  And  if 
it  is  not  washed  for  years  it  is  yet  more  cleanly  and  more  sanitary  than 
wall  paper.  Still,  the  objection  to  wall  paper  is  mostly  overcome  if  plain 
paper,  or  paper  scarce  removed  from  plainness,  is  used.  Then  a  few  pic- 
tures, wall  cupboards,  or  boxes  j  an  old  chart  or  map,  an  early  print,  may 
serve  to  give  interest  and  dignity  and  warmth  to  a  house. 


XL.    GARDEN   ARRANGEMENT 

IN  a  book  dealing  mostly  with  rural  life  some  attention  should  properly 
be  paid  to  gardens. 

The  first  principle  of  the  lady  of  the  house  in  Vermont,  must  often  be 
conservation  of  time.  For  this  reason  she  should  choose  for  the  most 
part  for  her  garden  those  flowers  which  renew  themselves  annually,  and 
those  flowers  which  are  hardy  enough  to  survive  severe  winters.  Thus 
her  labors  will  be  lightened;  for  it  will  be  noticed  we  are  presuming,  as  it 
is  safe  to  do,  that  most  of  the  flower  garden  labors  fall  to  women.  Men 
are  not  persuaded  unless  they  are  florists,  that  a  flower  garden  is  important. 
The  exceptions  to  this  statement  lament  the  rule. 

In  the  arrangement  of  a  garden  the  path  —  there  is  generally  but  one  — 
is  the  natural  focus.  On  its  borders  may  be  grouped  rows  of  small  flowers, 
to  be  followed  in  their  rear  by  others  of  higher  growth  so  that  one  row 
may  offset  or  reinforce  another.  In  a  little  house-garden  any  effort  at 
landscape  effects  is  unnecessary.  Formality  may  be  encouraged  in  a  small 
garden,  though,  to  us  at  least,  it  becomes  a  bore  in  a  large  garden.  If  in- 
stead of  a  grouping  of  all  the  flowers  together  one  chooses  to  cultivate 
clumps  of  flowers  against  old  boulders,  or  along  fence  rows,  the  result 
is  often  more  pleasing.  Such  an  arrangement  tends  to  enlarge  the  general 
aspect  of  beauty  about  a  home. 


21 8  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

"  Old  fashioned  flowers  "  is  an  amusing  term.  Of  course  we  under- 
stand what  it  means.  But  fortunately  He  who  makes  flowers  grow  does 
not  distinguish  between  old  and  new.  There  is  an  eternity  in  every 
flower  however  ephemeral  its  bloom  may  be. 

That  thought  brings  to  our  mind  another:  that  those  flowers  are  to  be 
preferred  which  have  a  long  blooming  season.  Carelessness  about  choice 
may  result  in  a  dull  garden  during  most  of  the  summer.  Cosmos  is  de- 
servedly popular  because  its  gay  and  abundant  bloom  extends  away  be- 
yond any  ordinary  early  frost,  and  by  a  little  protection  it  may  even  go 
on  to  very  severe  frost.  Thus  one  should  choose  some  of  the  first  flowers 
that  bloom,  like  the  crocuses,  and  by  judicious  selection  make  the  whole 
summer  bright.  If  a  quarter  of  the  garden  blooms  at  once,  and  the  bloom 
is  somewhat  distributed,  an  ample  array  of  blossoms  is  provided,  for 
solid  color  or  universal  colors  in  a  garden  are  as  much  to  be  avoided  as 
elsewhere. 

It  has  been  said,  perhaps  by  wise  men,  that  nervous  or  lonely  women 
have  their  balance  and  serenity  restored  by  garden  attendance.  Where  is 
the  mother  or  the  daughter  of  the  house  more  beautiful  than  among  her 
flowers,  herself  the  most  beaming  and  attractive  of  them  all? 

There  are  some  women  who  can  hardly  be  content  without  flowers  the 
year  through.  For  such  there  is  joy  in  life,  and  a  fullness  that  cannot 
otherwise  come  into  the  heart. 

In  a  cold  climate  like  Vermont  a  garden  is  especially  valued.  Flowers 
are  loved  there  more  than  in  regions  where  they  flourish  most  of  the  year. 
The  garden  is  eagerly  thought  of  in  the  late  spring,  and  is  a  delight  all 
the  greater  because  it  is  long  in  coming. 


A   VISIT   TO    MT.    MANSFIELD  221 

XLI.    A   VISIT   TO    MT.    MANSFIELD 

WE  made  the  ascent  of  Mt.  Mansfield  some  years  ago  before  the 
advent  of  the  motor  car.  The  kind  people  of  St.  Johnsbury  had  told 
us  we  must  go  to  Stowe  and  there  we  would  find  the  wagons  to  take  us  up 
the  mountain.  We  imagined  that  Stowe  lay  snuggled  at  its  base,  and 
that  mountain  guides  and  wagons  could  be  had  in  plenty.  But  reality  often 
dijBfers  from  pictures  in  the  brain.  After  a  rattling  ride  from  Morrisville 
in  a  well-filled  wagonette  we  drew  up  before  the  inn  door  in  Stowe  only 
to  receive  the  inhospitable  information,  "  All  wagons  for  the  day  left  for 
Mt.  Mansfield  an  hour  ago."  And  Mt.  Mansfield  itself,  instead  of  hanging 
in  a  protecting,  fatherly  fashion  about  the  village  farms,  lay  placidly  oflF 
in  the  distance,  five  miles,  they  said,  like  a  giant  asleep  on  his  back.  In 
fact  there  is  so  much  resemblance  between  the  outline  of  the  mountain  and 
a  prostrate  human  figure,  especially  the  face,  that  prominent  parts  of  the 
mountain  have  been  named  The  Forehead,  The  Nose,  The  Chin. 

How  to  reach  this  sleeping  giant  we  did  not  know,  unless  we  walked. 
As  our  time  was  limited  it  was  not  wise  to  spend  the  night  at  the  inn  and 
wait  for  a  wagon  next  day.  But  if  we  walked  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
we  felt  we  would  be  too  tired  for  the  four  hours'  climb  necessary  to  reach 
the  summit.  When  our  gloom  was  darkest  the  proverbial  ray  of  light  ap- 
peared in  the  shape  of  a  blue-coated  man,  who,  for  a  good  round  sum, 
offered  to  drive  us  to  the  mountain  and  there  leave  us  to  find  our  way  to 
the  top  by  following  the  wagon  road. 

We  were  hungry,  but  there  was  no  time  for  dinner.  We  must  be  on 
our  way  at  once,  we  were  told,  or  darkness  would  overtake  us  on  the  steep 
mountain  side.  We  looked  off  to  the  land  of  our  journey  and  found  it 
thickly  wooded.  Lost  in  the  mountains  among  the  tall  trees  not  seeming 
an  agreeable  fate,  we  hastily  purchased  bananas,  sweet  chocolate,  and 
crackers,  climbed  into  the  carry-all  which  our  blue-coated  friend  had  pro- 
vided, and  made  a  brisk  dash  toward  the  wooded  height. 

Note.     The  accompanying  sketch  is  written  by  an  admirer  of  Vermont  who  signs  the  initial  "H." 

The  Author 


222  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

At  the  last  house  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  we  left  our  luggage  to  be 
picked  up  by  the  man  who  carried  the  express  to  the  summit.  Then  gaily 
bidding  adieu  to  our  driver,  we  tied  our  sweaters  about  our  waists,  picked 
up  some  suitable  sticks,  entered  the  wooded  road,  and  began  our  climb. 

The  first  thing  we  noticed  was  that  it  was  hotj  the  next,  that  we  could 
see  nothing  of  the  wonderful  views  we  had  expected.  Up,  up,  we  went, 
but  the  encircling  trees  hid  the  landscape.  The  road  was  rough,  and  we 
soon  tired.  Should  we  ever  reach  the  top?  Nature  was  kind,  however, 
and  at  climbing  intervals  of  about  twenty  minutes  provided  us  with  a 
spring.  Here  we  would  halt  —  drop  down  in  fact  —  eat  of  our  hastily 
collected  food-store,  drink  the  cool  water,  bathe  our  faces  in  it,  and  wonder 
what  next.  So  the  afternoon  wore  away,  and  feeling  more  and  more  the 
strain  on  our  muscles  and  the  weariness  of  exertion,  we  thought  only  of 
the  hours  of  rest  which  should  be  ours  when  the  hotel  at  the  top  of  the 
mountain  was  reached. 

But  suddenly  we  came  out  of  the  woods,  and  the  view  burst  upon  us! 
Green  sunny  peaks  were  everywhere  j  beautiful  clouds  were  filling,  spread- 
ing, then  filling  again  and  floating  majestically  aloft j  while  away  in  the 
distance  loomed  the  Presidential  Range  —  Mt.  Washington,  Mt.  Adams, 
Mt.  Jefferson,  Mt.  Madison  —  among  the  White  Hills  of  New  Hamp- 
shire! All  thoughts  of  rest  vanished,  all  weariness  oozed  away,  and  filled 
with  exhilaration  excited  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene  and  the  patriotic  ap- 
peal of  mountain  names  and  pride  of  belonging  to  a  country  so  grand,  we 
rushed  to  the  simple  hostelry  which  stood  among  the  rocks,  secured  a 
room  for  the  night  and  went  forth  to  explore. 

Never  had  we  thought  the  old  giant  lying  on  his  back,  as  we  had  seen 
him  from  the  valley  of  Stowe,  could  have  so  much  beauty  in  store  for  us! 
We  walked  on  and  on  for  miles.  We  perched  on  crags,  we  wandered  over 
crooked  footpaths  and  crouched  in  terror  at  strange  booming  noises.  As 
the  region  was  totally  unknown  to  us,  we  wondered  if  wild  beasts  lurked 
behind  the  rocks,  and  what  made  the  low-growing  hemlocks  wave  with  so 
much  agitation.     We  peered  about  cautiously,  looking  for  shining  eyes 


A   VISIT   TO    MT.    MANSFIELD  225 

among  the  shrubs j  we  listened  again,  and  the  boom!  boom!  sounded  more 
ominous  than  ever.  But  no  ,wild  animal  came  from  a  secret  hiding  place  j 
no  lions  or  tigers  sprung  across  our  path.  Then  it  was  we  discovered  the 
top  of  the  mountain  was  full  of  caves,  and  that  the  wind  clutching  at 
their  dark  throats,  and  roaring  pitiless  threats  into  their  unimpressive  ears, 
was  responsible  for  our  fright. 

But  it  was  after  our  late  dinner  that  the  true  magnificence  of  the  scene 
came  to  us  and  we  felt  fully  repaid  for  our  long  climb  of  several  hours 
before.  Mt.  Mansfield  is  more  than  four  thousand  feet  high,  and  one  of 
its  highest  points,  called  The  Nose,  is  not  far  from  The  Summit  House. 
Just  as  the  sun  was  making  his  adieux  to  the  western  world,  we  climbed  the 
crags  that  make  The  Nose  and  watched  the  panorama  before  us.  Miles 
away,  but  seemingly  close  at  our  feet,  lay  Lake  Champlain,  pulsing  with 
rosy  lights,  and  beyond  were  the  Adirondacks,  range  on  range,  beckoning 
to  the  almost  illimitable  stretches  that  lay  between  us  and  the  Golden 
Gate  of  our  Pacific  shores.  Wondrous  clouds  floated,  like  Islands  of  the 
Blessed,  in  a  sea  of  opalescent  tints.  To  float  with  them  into  Eternal 
Peace  seemed  easy  and  natural.  The  long  sigh  which  came  with  the 
purple  twilight  was  a  high  tribute  to  the  beauty  we  had  seen.  When  we 
closed  our  eyes  to  sleep  that  night  it  was  with  the  thought  that  our  cup 
was  really  too  full,  for  we  should  see  the  sun  rise  in  the  morning! 

But  alas-and-alack-a-day!  The  sun  never  rose  at  all!  As  if  Nature 
felt  she  had  allowed  us  enough  pleasure  for  one  visit  she  drew  a  cloud  of 
mist  over  the  whole  mountain.  When  we  awoke  a  drizzling  rain  was  fall- 
ing, and  not  an  object  was  visible  twenty  feet  from  the  hotel  door.  No 
wagons  would  venture  up  or  down  the  mountain  on  a  day  like  this.  The 
thermometer  had  fallen  to  forty  degrees,  men  and  women  shivered  in 
what  wraps  they  could  furnish  and  huddled  disconsolately  about  a  little 
iron  stove  in  the  plain  living  room.  We  were  marooned  on  the  mountain 
for  an  indefinite  period.  Then  it  was  that  man  turned  to  contemplate  his 
brother,  and  blotted-out  crag  and  sky  were  forgotten  in  tales  of  human 
interest. 


226  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

The  night  before  at  our  table  had  sat  a  man  of  waxen  complexion  who 
had  given  not  a  glance  at  the  excellent  dinner  which  was  being  served, 
but  had  asked  the  waiter  for  a  quart  of  hot  milk.  A  quart  of  hot  milk 
on  the  top  of  Mt.  Mansfield!  Now  it  seems  that  the  milk  supply  of  the 
hotel  came  mainly  from  one  cow,  which  browsed  among  the  low  bushes  and 
made  pleasant  echoes  among  the  rocks  as  the  tongue  of  her  metallic  bell 
swung  heavily  while  she  snatched  her  scanty  sustenance.  A  quart  of  milk 
to  one  man!  At  that  rate  how  could  each  guest  be  properly  supplied?  The 
waiter  stood  aghast,  but  the  gourmand  took  a  small  cake  of  uncooked,  com- 
pressed cereals  from  his  pocket  and  assured  his  provider  that  that  was  all 
he  would  have  to  eat  unless  the  milk  was  forth  coming.  Doctor's  orders! 
Forth  came  the  milk.  And  now  on  this  misty  day,  when  it  was  impossible 
to  leave  the  hotel  as  he  had  expected,  the  cakes  of  grain  had  given  out  and 
the  cow  was  lost  in  the  fog.  Poor  man!  We  listened  with  sympathy  to 
his  accounts  of  doctor's  orders  and  to  the  tale  of  a  gain  of  twenty  pounds 
in  two  months  on  the  diet  prescribed,  but  secretly  we  were  pleased  to  see 
him  obliged  to  eat  chicken  at  the  mid-day  meal,  and  no  doubt  secretly  he 
was  pleased  himself  to  think  the  hardships  of  travel  had  reduced  him  to 
such  straits! 

The  man  and  his  party  were  planning  to  visit  Smuggler's  Notch,  not 
many  miles  away,  as  soon  as  the  sun  shone  again.  Here  we  were  told  the 
cliffs  rose  one  thousand  feet  and  had  looked  down  on  many  a  deed  of 
darkness  and  daring.  For  during  the  War  of  1 8 1 2  with  England,  and  the 
days  of  the  Embargo  Act  which  preceded  it,  some  Vermonters  took  the  law 
into  their  own  hands  and  traded  with  Canada  as  they  saw  fit.  Their  boats 
came  down  Lake  Champlain,  ran  up  the  entering  rivers  sometimes,  unloaded 
their  goods,  and  then  other  smugglers  took  the  merchandise  across  the 
country.  Vermont  was  very  sparsely  settled  at  that  time,  and  party  feeling 
in  opposition  to  the  war  ran  high.  In  fact  all  New  England  opposed  the 
war  as  contrary  to  its  commercial  interests,  but  Vermont  was  better  sit- 
uated for  romantic  deeds  than  some  parts  of  the  country.  Someone 
spoke  of  the  famous  Black  Snake,  the  smuggling  boat  that  was  finally 


-*»■    ^     "Tfl^      ^.ISk'^ 


--HI 

m 


A   VISIT    TO    MT.    MANSFIELD  229 

captured  up  the  Winooskij  someone  spoke  of  cattle  thieves  and  their  ad- 
ventures with  the  officers  of  the  lawj  someone  spoke  of  Vermont's  heroes 
in  the  war  and  all  agreed  that  these  far  outnumbered  the  few  lawless 
citizens  who  had  plotted  and  planned  in  Smuggler's  Notch. 

All  the  time  we  were  talking  a  grave  looking  man  with  fine  features  sat 
silently  by  himself  in  a  corner  and  seemed  not  to  hear  a  word.  Rumor 
said  he  was  a  famous  judge  who  seldom  spoke  outside  the  courtroom. 
He  made  yearly  visits  to  the  little  hostelry  on  the  top  of  Mt.  Mansfield 
and  seemed  to  be  content  with  the  beauty  of  the  views  and  in  no  need  of 
human  society.  Day  wore  on  into  evening.  Card  tables  were  brought 
out  and  some  forgot  the  cold  and  dreariness  of  their  surroundings  in  watch- 
ing for  kings,  queens,  and  aces.  Some  continued  to  talk,  but  the  silent 
man  did  not  notice.  We  passed  him  with  a  bit  of  awe  as  we  said  good- 
night to  the  company  and  mounted  the  stairs  to  our  sleeping  quarters. 
Though  speech  is  silvern,  silence  is  often  golden,  and  we  wondered  if  we 
had  not  erred  in  our  much  talking  with  strangers.  But  the  time  would 
have  passed  drearily  indeed  had  nobody  said  anything. 

The  next  morning  seeming  as  gray  as  the  day  before  we  resolved  not  to 
get  up  at  all  but  to  ward  off  the  chill  by  staying  in  bed.  Disconsolately 
we  turned  our  faces  into  our  pillows  and  tried  to  sleep,  only  to  be  soon 
roused  by  a  shouting,  a  commotion,  and  a  quick  awakening  to  the  fact 
that  we  had  surrendered  too  soon  to  despair.  The  storm  was  over,  the 
sun  shining,  and  the  world  once  more  was  ours!  A  glance  from  our  win- 
dow showed  the  glory  and  grandeur  of  the  mountain  scenery  in  even  more 
loveliness  than  before.  Fellow  tourists  were  shouting  excitedly  to  us  from 
the  rocks  below  j  the  hemlocks  were  glistening  in  the  clear  light  j  the  cow- 
bell was  tinkling  cheerfully  near  at  hand.  With  all  haste  we  rushed  into 
the  out-of-doors  and  hurried  to  a  point  of  vantage. 

The  clouds  that  had  settled  on  us  the  day  before,  drenching  us  with  mist, 
were  now  lying  below  us  a  half  mile  down  the  mountain  side.  As  we 
looked  they  began  to  break,  and  lift,  and  float  out  over  the  world  at  our 
feet.    To  one  who  had  never  seen  this  phenomenon  before,  as  we  had  not, 


230  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

the  sight  was  thrilling  and  inspiring.  Like  wraiths  the  mists  curled  and 
gathered  in  the  hollows,  then  floated  off  towards  the  sun  as  if  to  offer 
praise.  Sometimes  they  collected  in  large  masses  and  spread  out  for  miles, 
then  rose  and  broke  again  as  though  ashamed  of  the  selfishness  that  would 
hide  from  us  the  beautiful  landscape.  So  gathering,  rising,  breaking, 
floating  off  into  the  blue,  the  cloud  fairies  held  us  entranced  until  at  last 
all  disappeared  and  left  us  so  full  of  joy  at  the  loveliness  of  our  sur- 
roundings that  we  rebelled  strongly  at  the  thought  of  leaving  it,  as  we 
knew  we  must.  As  a  last  goodby  we  wandered  once  more  among  the  wind- 
haunted  caves  and  listened  to  their  booming  music  j  once  more  we  fol- 
lowed winding  paths  and  discovered  objects  we  had  missed  before 3  once 
more  we  climbed  The  Nose  and  looked  out  toward  Champlainj  once  more 
we  turned  towards  Smuggler's  Notch  and  its  romantic  haunts.  Our  two 
days  had  been  full  of  interest.  Should  we  ever  come  again  to  this  spot? 
We  would  be  foolish  or  most  unfortunate  did  we  not;  and  next  time  we 
would  plan  to  spend  weeks  instead  of  days  in  the  region. 

So  great  was  the  hold  of  the  mountain  upon  us  that  when  we  left  that 
afternoon  we  walked  the  first  two  miles  of  the  downward  road  and  allowed 
the  stage  to  overtake  us.  By  doing  this  we  could  pause  when  a  break  in 
the  trees  gave  us  a  bit  of  rapture,  or  when  something  interesting  caught 
our  attention.  We  could  examine  the  stones  and  mosses,  pick  the  occasional 
flower  and  fill  our  lungs  at  will  with  the  purest  of  pure  air.  There  was  no 
apprehension  in  this  downward  journey,  as  there  had  been  in  our  ascent. 
We  were  carrying  back  with  us  the  memory  of  broad  views  and  grand 
summits,  and  we  were  happy. 


XLIL    OLD   NEW   ENGLAND    HOMES 

A  SMALL  work  with  the  above  title  was  prepared  by  the  author,  de- 
signed for  rich  illustration  in  color.     But  after  about  a  dozen  copies 
had  been  issued  it  was  thought  best  to  withdraw  it  from  the  market  and 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  233 

to  publish  certain  of  its  contents  in  this  more  popular  form.    The  text  of 
this  earlier  work  is  used  through  the  title  "  The  Time  of  Day." 

THE    HEARTH 

Since  men  discovered  how  to  make  a  fire  the  hearth  has  been  the  center 
of  their  lives.  Every  human  generation  except  one  has  sat  about  the 
hearth  at  evening.  The  last  generation  "  escaped  "  it  —  a  doubtful  mark 
of  progress.  Our  ancestors  got  their  food,  warmth  and  light  from  the 
hearth.  Hundreds  of  our  lineal  ancestors  crawled  before  an  open  fire, 
and  after  the  mother's  breast  that  fire  was  their  first  mystery.  It  taught 
their  first  lesson  in  self  restraint.  Their  gaze  from  the  day  that  they  first 
"  took  notice  "  till  they  were  bent  and  senile  was  for  some  part  of  every 
day  into  the  fascinating,  soothing,  alluring  glow  of  the  fireplace.  Human- 
ity was  born  close  by  the  fire,  and  passed  away  from  the  fire  into  the  unseen 
world.  Love  and  lore  began  at  the  fireside.  It  was  the  symbol  of  comfort 
and  affection  and  cheer.     It  was  the  spot  where  sacred  and  secular  met. 

Fire  was  a  precious  thing.  Our  own  grandfathers  sometimes  went  miles 
in  winter,  through  deep  snows,  to  "  borrow  fire  "  when  they  had  neglected 
to  keep  their  coals  alive.  With  wet  wood  it  was  easier  to  borrow  than  to 
use  the  flint  and  steel.  A  hearth  without  glowing  coals  was  the  sign  of 
desolation.  The  aboriginal  crawling  naked  before  the  fireplace  loved  it  no 
less  than  did  the  king's  son. 

SAGAS  OF  THE   FIRELIGHT 

It  was  at  evening  or  in  bitter  winter  storms  that  the  children  crept  be- 
tween grandpa's  knees  and  listened  to  the  sagas  of  long  ago,  while  the 
weird  firelight  played  on  their  awestruck  little  faces.  Before  writing,  his- 
tory was  perpetuated  by  stories  handed  down  from  father  to  son  of  the 
deeds  of  their  fathers,  which,  we  may  be  sure,  lost  nothing  in  the  telling. 
Demigods  got  their  shape  by  the  firelight,  as  their  great  figures  were  out- 
lined by  the  reverend  grandsire,  and  the  monstrous  leaping  shadows  in 


234  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

the  dark  corners  of  the  room  lent  reality  and  fascinating  horror  to  their 
substantial  ghosts.  "  Tell  me  a  story  "  is  the  first  popular  demand  for 
literature,  for  history  if  it  were  forthcoming,  but  at  any  rate  for  a  story 
that  must  be  told  with  sufficient  art  to  seem  real. 

At  first  the  grandfather,  his  activities  circumscribed  to  hovering  before 
the  blaze,  kept  himself  to  the  general  and  recent  history  of  the  family. 
But  the  tune  was  soon  demanded  with  variations.  Details  were  added  to 
supply  the  demand.  Alluring  side  paths  were  followed.  A  new  adventure 
must  be  supplied  to  give  coherence,  and  fill  up  the  gaps. 

Old  Homer  tried  his  tale  first,  we  may  be  sure,  at  the  fireside  on  his 
own  grandsons.  As  his  hand  swept  the  strings  and  gained  confidence  the 
neighbors  gathered  around.  That  was  a  theatre  for  you!  What  were 
Mrs.  Siddons  and  her  train  compared  with  the  great  black  but  glowing 
background  of  the  stone  fireplace  in  the  ancient  hall,  the  grand  old  harper, 
and  the  eager  Greek  faces  turned  toward  him,  while  the  roof  returned 
the  falling  echoes  of  "  the  good  old  times." 

Literature  is  the  weaving  of  fact  and  imagination  into  a  texture  of 
beauty  and  coherence.  What  subtler  stimulus  of  imagination  than  this 
same  crinkling  spark-chase  over  the  surface  of  the  back  log  and  the  little 
flames  spitting  from  the  crevasses  of  the  fagots!  Any  man  is  a  poet  when 
he  muses  by  the  glowing  hearth.  Literature  got  its  proper  cantos  by  the 
fireside.  The  tale,  for  unity's  sake,  must  reach  its  climax  in  an  evening, 
before  the  bright  eyes  of  the  listeners  glazed  with  languor,  and  so  as  the 
blaze  died  down,  the  story  drew  to  an  end,  leaving  only  a  suggestive 
question  unanswered,  to  serve  as  a  beginning  for  the  next  saga  night. 

Or  it  was  a  story  of  true  love  in  distress?  In  the  half  shadow  behind 
the  narrator  a  strong  young  hand  would  reach  out  for  that  of  a  coy  maid, 
and  by  the  fire  grew  a  love  and  loyalty  reaching  its  fitting  culmination 
when  the  youth  led  home  the  maiden  to  keep  his  hearth  alight  and  to  rear 
a  new  generation. 

There  was  also  a  beginning  of  state-craft  by  the  hearth.  The  council 
fires  of  savage  and  sage  witnessed  the  gathering  of  chiefs  and  elders  to 
form  the  policies  of  war  and  peace. 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  237 

In  later  times  it  was  the  love  light  that  suggested  to  invention  ways  of 
bettering  the  fireplace.  When  America  was  settled  men  built  ovens  in 
the  backs  of  the  fireplaces.  In  these  ovens  the  iire  which  was  started  had 
no  separate  flues  but  blazed  forth  from  the  open  oven  doors  and  found 
its  way  up  the  great  chimney.  Then  the  ashes  were  cleared  and  the  baking 
done  in  the  same  cavity.  It  was  an  afterthought  of  some  good  man  to 
relieve  his  wife  from  hovering  over  the  hot  blaze  on  the  main  hearth  to 
superintend  her  baking.  He  therefore  built  an  oven  at  the  side  of  the 
fireplace  with  a  subordinate  flue  leading  into  the  great  chimney. 

THE  HANGING  OF  THE  CRANE 

In  the  older  American  fireplaces  there  was  no  crane,  but  a  tough  pole 
fixed  above  the  blaze  on  lugs  at  each  side  of  the  opening.  To  test  the 
savory  kettle  of  broth  the  housewife  must  lean  over  the  flame.  Some 
good  man,  who  wished  to  save  the  fair  face  of  his  wife  from  this  ordeal, 
invented  a  crane  on  which  the  pot  could  be  swung  out  and  filled,  tried, 
or  emptied  at  leisure.  So  the  "  hanging  of  the  crane  "  came  to  mean 
the  setting  up  of  a  new  family. 

The  pot  hooks  were  made  of  diflFerent  lengths  to  bring  the  vessels 
within  a  proper  distance  of  the  fire.  The  flat  shovel  used  in  passing  the 
mince  pies  and  bean  pots  into  the  oven  was  called  a  slice.  The  warming 
pan  was  filled  with  coals  and  moved  about  between  cold  sheets  for  the 
benefit  of  guests  or  invalids,  the  hardy  not  requiring  or  at  least  not  ad- 
mitting the  need  of  such  artificial  aids.  There  was  attached  to  the  ceil- 
ing a  long  pole  or  two,  on  which  was  hung  the  ironing  to  air  before  being 
stored  in  drawers  strewn  with  lavender. 

In  my  boyhood  we  possessed  an  ancient  single  ox-yoke,  which  had  been 
used  on  "  Old  Star  "  (an  ox  so  called  from  the  white  spot  on  his  forehead) 
to  drag  into  the  kitchen  the  great  back  log.  It  was  of  course  impossible  to 
drive  a  pair  of  oxen  through  the  narrow  doors,  but  probably  the  neat  mother 
thought  the  one  great  beast  enough  —  almost  a  bull  in  a  china  shop !  And 
the  log  was  usually  well  coated  with  snow  or  ice ! 


238  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

In  later  times  the  genius  of  the  brothers  Adam  in  England  and  their 
grateful  imitators  here,  made  the  fireplace  what  it  deserved  to  be,  the 
center  of  home  decoration,  and  today  as  one  tours  through  the  back  country 
one  may  often  come  upon  a  ruinous  dwelling  with  a  fireplace  well  worth 
negotiating  for. 

It  was  natural  that  the  parlor  fireplace  should  receive  the  best  skill  of 
the  local  carpenter.  Above  it  the  chimney  drew  in,  leaving  the  room  for 
cupboards  where  the  family  treasures  were  stored. 

It  was  not  unusual  for  a  fireplace  to  be  seven  or  eight  feet  broad. 
This  generation  has  mistaken  the  meaning  of  "  the  chimney  corner."  It 
was  not  a  corner  of  the  room  near  the  chimney  but  a  side  of  the  fireplace 
itself  within  which  the  grandfather  sat,  on  those  milder  days  when  only  a 
portion  of  the  hearth  was  required  for  the  fire.  A  fireplace  in  Warwick, 
Rhode  Island,  was  so  large  that  three  sets  of  andirons  had  their  place 
within  it,  in  a  row,  and  the  black  oak  beam  which  formed  the  lintel  was 
nineteen  inches  through  and  so  hard,  from  generations  of  slow  roasting, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  drive  into  it  the  point  of  a  knife.  Many  a  fire- 
place was  as  high  as  a  man's  shoulder,  and  the  stars  could  be  seen  by  peering 
upward. 

Santa  Claus  could  easily  descend  such  a  chimney,  though  his  proportions 
were  as  generous  as  the  children  were  led  to  believe. 

There  is,  could  we  know  it,  a  legend  and  a  romance  connected  with 
every  old  fireplace.  The  spot  is  full  of  sentiment  and  symbolism.  There 
were  other  festoons  than  simple  strings  of  dried  apple  and  pumpkin  hung 
about  the  wide  chimney-piece.  There  twined  the  tendrils  of  many  fond 
memories,  and  there  sat  the  dear  ghosts  of  other  years. 

In  some  houses  there  was  an  enlargement  made  in  the  chimney,  at  the 
second  story,  and  a  narrow  door  admitted  to  a  stone  floored  chamber 
where  the  meats  from  the  Christmas  killing  were  hung  to  cure  and  smoke, 
and  were  never  removed  from  their  nails  till  wanted  for  use. 

In  some  instances  the  great  chimney  contained  secret  cupboards  or  even 
stairs  where  the  wife  might  hide  if  attacked  by  the  Indians. 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  241 

There  were  often,  in  the  larger  houses,  seven  or  eight  fireplaces,  grouped 
around  a  single  chimney,  on  two  floors. 

The  more  pretentious  homes  had  more  than  one  chimney  —  the  regular 
number  in  a  really  good  house  of  1790  being  four,  two  at  each  end  built 
into  the  brick  end  of  the  house.  Hence  many  old  houses  are  seen  with 
brick  ends,  and  fronts  and  backs  of  wood.  Thus  a  household  was  "  between 
two  fires  "  —  one  at  each  side  room  facing  the  great  hall.  The  outsides 
of  the  rooms  in  the  case  of  one  chimney  only,  were  very  cold,  and  in 
bitter  weather,  there  was  a  frost  line  on  the  floor,  part  way  between  the 
hearth  and  the  outside  wall.  Whittier's  "  Snow  Bound  "  gives  us  many 
details  of  the  old  life. 

It  was  necessary  to  keep  the  cellars  nearly  at  the  point  of  freezing,  be- 
cause the  year's  stock  of  vegetables  was  stored  there.  Apples  stored  in  a 
dark,  cold,  and  somewhat  damp  cellar  kept  till  spring  without  wilting, 
and  the  winter  evenings  were  beguiled  by  a  row  of  this  unrivaled  fruit 
toasting  before  the  blaze,  and  turned  by  the  expectant  children.  For  their 
elders  a  jug  of  cider,  also  home  made,  simmered  by  the  side  of  the  hearth. 

In  the  earliest  days  a  spit  for  the  great  meat  roasts  was  contrived,  at 
first  turned  by  boy-power,  until  an  ingenious  and  perspiring  young  Ameri- 
can arranged  a  dog-power  and  secured  his  liberty  at  the  expense  of  his 
humble  companion. 

The  bannocks  were  baked  on  a  smooth  sheet  of  iron,  or  even  of  wood, 
set  on  the  hearth  slantwise  to  the  blaze.  Doubtless  the  dreadful  Ameri- 
can appetite  for  hot  bread  descends  from  those  days. 


OCCUPATIONS   OF   THE   FIRESIDE 


Besides  the  apples  to  watch  and  the  cider  to  warm,  there  was  corn  to 
pop  or  parch.  Our  fathers  learned  from  the  Indians  how  to  use  parched 
corn.  The  kernels  that  did  not  pop  were  brayed  in  a  mortar  and  carried  on 
hunting  trips.  Enough  for  many  days'  supply  could  thus  be  kept  at  hand, 
superior  to  our  breakfast  foods  and  ready  to  eat  at  any  brookside.  The 
popped  corn  was  a  favorite  dish  with  milk.    Corn  was  of  course  as  new  to 


242  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

our  ancestors  as  to  their  children.  The  lives  of  the  first  comers  were  saved 
by  buying  or  borrowing  from  the  Indians.  While  corn  was  inferior  to 
wheat  its  yield  per  acre  was  greater,  and  it  was  easier  to  cultivate  and  care 
for,  requiring  no  mill  or  tedious  baking.  For  these  reasons  corn  is  still 
popular  in  the  poorer  parts  of  our  country.  The  mountaineers  of  the 
Appalachians  still  use  it  in  the  simple  manner  of  our  ancestors.  Indeed 
if  one  wishes  to  know  how  the  early  English  settlers  lived  he  has  only 
to  go  into  a  mountain  home,  where  he  will  find  the  same  utensils,  articles 
of  diet,  and  domestic  habits  that  marked  our  fathers. 

The  hand-loom,  the  flax-wheel  and  the  wool  spinning-wheel,  the  hand- 
hetchels  and  cards  for  flax  and  wool  provided  all  that  was  required  for  the 
wear  of  every  member  of  the  family.  The  grandmother  knit  all  the  stock- 
ings, mittens,  scarfs,  and  hoods. 

The  cheese  press  and  the  churn,  the  mortar,  and  often  a  cobbler's  bench 
stood  along  the  wall.  If  an  ingenious  member  of  the  family  did  not  make 
the  footwear,  an  itinerant  cobbler  came  as  a  guest  until  he  had  fitted  out 
the  family  for  the  year. 

THE  VERSATILITY  OF  THE  SETTLER 

Every  farm  was  a  factory  and  a  university.  There  was  nothing  nec- 
essary to  the  comfort  of  human  life  that  was  not  raised  or  made  at  home, 
except  salt.  Hats  from  their  own  straw  3  brooms  from  their  own  broom 
corn  J  and  rushes  for  the  kitchen  floors,  cut  in  their  own  swamp.  For 
their  woodwork,  linseed  oil  from  their  own  flaxj  to  render  their  boots 
waterproof  and  supple,  neatsfoot  oil  from  their  own  cattle.  Feathers  from 
their  own  geese  supplied  soft  beds  and  pillows  necessary  in  the  unwarmed 
rooms  of  a  cold  winter.  Maple  furniture,  either  the  beautiful  bird's-eye  or 
the  plain  wood,  was  hard  and  strong,  and  when  men  required  even  greater 
strength  there  was  oak.  The  supple  ash  made  their  fork  and  ax  handles  j 
the  birch  was  as  beautiful  as  mahogany,  and  as  a  wood  to  burn  it  was  the 
perfect  poetry  of  a  blaze.  If  a  great  wall  had  been  built  around  the 
home  and  acres  of  a  pioneer,  he  would  not  have  felt  any  lack  of  food  or 
raiment. 


^ 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  245 

It  was  the  variety  of  his  occupations  that  broadened  the  mind  of  a 
settler.  A  man  who  can  do  anything  is  somebody,  and  has  learned  to 
think.  A  woman  who  has  clothed  and  fed  her  own  household  has  a 
strength  and  dignity  impossible  to  a  mere  poseur.  A  man  who  can  carve 
a  forest  can  build  a  state. 

The  almost  miraculous  burst  of  inventive  genius  that  appeared  in 
America  is  to  be  traced  to  the  putting  of  so  many  good  minds  to  doing  such 
varied  tasks.  A  high  class  of  laborers  invents  labor-saving  devices.  If 
modern  division  of  labor  proceeds  too  far  it  will  narrow  the  laborer  more 
than  it  will  help  the  labor.  If  necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention,  the 
people  who  find  everything  supplied  for  them  will  not  invent. 

Our  fathers  digged  their  wells  and  wanted  a  refrigerator.  One  farmer 
made  a  recess  half-way  down  in  his  well  and  there  stored  the  summer's 
butter  for  the  winter.  This  remarkable  well  is  in  South  Woodstock,  Ver- 
mont.    The  water  in  a  deep  well  is  not  very  much  above  freezing. 

PATCHWORK  QUILTS 

These  old  quilts  are  not  merely  an  ornamental  covering  for  the  bed. 
They  are  also  a  mosaic  of  afFection.  See  here  a  bit  of  calico  that  was  in 
Bessie's  first  apron  5  and  here  is  a  piece  of  silk  from  grandmother's  wed- 
ding gown  J  that  is  a  relic  of  Jimmie's  first  pinafore  3  this  square  was  from 
your  Uncle  Eli's  flowered  waistcoat.  Handle  the  old  quilt  reverently, 
for  every  triangle  in  it  marks  the  laughs  or  tears  or  prayers  of  another 
generation. 

The  quilting  frame  was  sustained  at  the  corners  by  chairs  or  tables, 
and  the  good  women  of  the  village  gathered  for  the  quilting  bee.  Reached 
out  side  by  side  over  the  odd  patterns  were  the  gnarled  red  hands  of  years 
of  labor  and  the  soft  white  fingers  of  young  girlhood.  The  corners  were 
cut  out  to  fit  around  the  big  old  bed-posts,  and  domestic  art  achieved  its 
triumphs  in  the  arrangement  of  the  quaint  pieces  in  attractive  designs. 

The  fair  hands  of  those  days  also  wove  the  lovely  blue-checked  counter- 
panes which  have  come  down  to  us.    Some  of  them  are  now  deemed  worthy 


246  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

of  the  state  chambers  of  persons  high  in  place.  Their  colors  were  always 
soft  and  harmonious.  Alas!  we  are  in  danger  of  losing  some  of  the  old 
arts  as  we  gain  new  ones.  I  have  sought  long  for  some  one  skilled  in 
drawing  in  the  old  testers  that  crowned  the  canopies  of  the  high  posters. 


THE  FOOD  OF  THE  FATHERS 


This  was  the  biggest  question  they  had  to  face.  They  did  not  land 
in  a  region  where  nature  was  especially  bountiful.  It  was  an  ancient  joke 
that  the  seed  must  be  shot  into  the  ground  from  a  gun,  and  the  sheep's 
noses  were  sharp,  working  in  between  the  rocks. 

One  family  in  New  England  has  picked  rocks  for  eight  generations  from 
the  same  farm.  Literal  millions  of  pebbles  or  boulders  line  the  roadsides 
and  field  divisions.  But  whenever  a  plough  cuts  the  sod  it  turns  up  a  new 
rocky  harvest.  Many  old  farms  raised  nothing  to  spare  but  boys.  The 
food  question  at  once  swallowed  up  every  other. 

Corn  was  hand-ground  until  a  mill  could  be  set  up.  The  simplest  and 
best  form  of  corn  bread  was  made  by  adding  merely  salt  and  water  to 
the  meal  and  spreading  a  very  thin  mixture  on  a  board  before  the  fire. 
This  diet  is  guaranteed  to  cure  any  digestive  derangement!  It  is  almost 
the  best  food.  But  the  corn  must  have  all  its  sweetness,  and  the  meal 
must  be  kept  in  very  small  parcels  so  as  not  to  heat  and  lose  its  delicious 
flavor.  Rye  was  later  mixed  with  corn  meal  and  the  result  was  what  I 
used  to  hear  called  Rhine-Injun  —  being,  I  supposed,  some  species  of 
European  red  man.  Great  was  my  astonishment  to  find  it  spelled  "  rye  an' 
Injun."  This  mixture  was  made  into  brown  bread  and  baked  in  the  big 
ovens  to  go  with  beans. 

By  a  kind  provision  of  Providence  beans  will  grow  on  the  poorest  soil 
so  that  "  bean  land  "  is  the  worst  name  to  call  a  field.  It  is  a  sad  provin- 
cialism to  suppose  baked  beans  peculiar  to  New  England.  On  the  Lake 
of  Galilee  the  men  who  row  for  tourists  all  day  and  for  fish  all  night, 
make  their  meal  of  beans  and  a  flapjack  —  the  latter  pulled  in  a  roll 
from  the  pocket.    Beans  have  been  found,  chemically  and  experimentally, 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  249 

to  contain  more  nutriment  than  any  other  form  of  food,  being  far  superior 
to  meat.  Yet  our  fathers  did  not  eat  beans  more  than  eight  or,  at  most,  fif- 
teen times  a  week !  The  new  beans  came  on  Saturday  night.  The  pot  went 
back  into  the  big  oven  so  that  with  the  bread,  breakfast  was  piping  hot 
Sunday  morning.  Many  wonder  how  the  family  kept  awake  at  church. 
After  they  had  driven  through  the  storm  and  took  their  seats  in  an  edifice 
without  any  heat  except  from  the  pulpit,  our  fathers  felt  the  need  of 
something  warming  within,  and  beans  are  a  steady  six-hour  fire,  without 
replenishing.  It  is  true  that,  in  August,  somnolence  might  mar  the  perfect 
peace  of  the  church,  but  at  any  rate  nobody  was  prematurely  hungry  for 
dinner.  The  beans  came  on  warmed  up  for  Monday  morning  and  noon. 
As  a  rule  the  wives  restricted  their  use  to  two  of  the  daily  meals,  but  where 
the  boys  were  specially  fond  of  beans  they  were  sometimes  allowed  a  few 
for  supper  and  between  meals.  A  real  New  Englander  never  tires  of 
beans.  He  knows  that  be  the  cost  of  living  what  it  may,  the  nation  is  safe 
while  the  bean  holds  out  to  burn.  Of  course,  when  the  uninitiated  eat 
beans  and  sit  down  at  once  to  write  poetry  they  may  produce  lame  meter. 
They  should  know  that  milking  and  feeding  ten  cows  before  breakfast  and 
similar  light  exercises  afterwards  should  precede  their  poetic  effusions.  It 
is  well  known  that  America's  great  lights  in  poetry  were  reared  in  beandom. 
Without  beans,  no  Whittier,  Longfellow,  Lowell,  Holmes,  or  Emerson. 
Beans  would  be  had  for  a  French  gentleman.  For  a  New  Englander,  roll- 
ing logs,  pulling  stumps,  riving  boulders,  and  ploughing  out  roads  and 
arguing  on  predestination,  beans  were  the  ideal  diet,  and  nothing  will  be 
invented  to  displace  them  from  supremacy.  As  string  beans  early  in  the 
season,  or  cranberry  beans  in  midsummer  or  bean  porridge  in  the  spring  — 
what  could  rival  their  infinite  variety? 

They  were  cooked  with  a  piece  of  salt  pork  and  required  no  other  season- 
ing except  vinegar  from  the  barrel  of  soured  cider,  made  from  the  natural 
fruit  of  the  orchard. 

In  the  autumn  and  winter  a  barrel  of  salt  pork  and  another  of  corned 
beef  was  packed  —  or  more  if  the  family  were  large.    The  hams  were  hung 


250  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

in  the  chimney  or  smoke-house.  The  odds  and  ends  made  mince-meat. 
In  using  all  without  waste,  modern  scientific  meat-packers  could  teach  our 
fathers  nothing. 

The  doughnuts  were  fried  either  in  lard  or  suet.  A  suet  pudding  had 
honor.  Our  fathers  learned  to  use  vegetables  much  more  largely  than  in 
England.  The  quick  hot  summers  were  favorable  to  most  sorts.  A  vege- 
table hash,  with  a  slice  of  corned  beef,  was  a  dish  for  great  men.  The  dice 
of  red  beets,  yellow  turnips  and  white  potatoes  helped,  with  the  bright- 
checkered  aprons  and  "  linsey-woolsey  "  about  the  board,  to  give  a  fine 
bright  air  of  color. 

The  milkweed  supplied  unrivalled  greens.  Dandelions  brightened  every 
dooryard.  The  mustard  grew  by  the  back  window.  In  the  "  cut-down  " 
(where  the  trees  had  been  felled)  sprang  up  the  most  luscious  blackberries, 
raspberries,  and  strawberries.  An  occasional  bear  disputed  possession  of 
these  dainties,  and  it  was  found  feasible  at  times  to  send  a  young  man  along 
with  Priscilla  to  protect  her  —  from  the  bear  hugs.  She  could  always 
fill  her  basket  first  —  her  basket  which  she  had  made,  or  bartered  to  ob- 
tain it  from  an  Indian.  The  elderberry  made  a  famous  wine,  and  before 
tallow  became  plenty  the  bayberry  supplied  candles. 

Fish  and  venison  relieved  the  fare  of  sameness.  The  cod  was  an  early 
source  of  wealth,  and  was  called  the  "  Cape  Ann  Turkey."  A  salt  cod 
always  hung  in  the  cellar-way  so  that  unexpected  guests  could  not  sur- 
prise the  home  without  a  substantial  reserve.  The  eloquence  of  New  Eng- 
land politicians  and  clergymen  has  been  traced  by  some  to  the  quantities 
of  smoked,  pickled  and  fresh  tongue  which  they  devoured.  When  we  add 
that  calves'  brains  also  assisted  —  maturing  by  wise  process  of  gestation  in 
the  growing  boys  —  we  may  see  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 

As  soon  as  possible  wheat  became,  as  always  among  Aryan  nations,  the 
main  reliance  in  breadstuffs.  The  lye  from  wood  ashes  suggested  a  way 
to  prepare  hulled  corn. 

The  English  tart  speedily  gave  way  to  pie,  the  mince-meat  and  the 
apples,  the  squash  and  the  berries  being  so  temptingly  convenient.    Plums, 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  253 

which  grow  to  perfection  in  England  and  on  our  north  Pacific  coast,  and 
which  supply  the  national  "  sweet "  of  England,  do  not  come  to  their 
finest  maturity  in  New  England. 


HOME  VIRTUES 


It  is  probably  true,  as  a  broad  statement,  that  generations  of  men  living 
in  apartment  houses  cannot  remain  free.  The  habits  of  independence  in 
thought  and  action  which  are  stimulated  by  dwelling  in  a  detached  home 
are  necessary  to  educate  a  free  man.  An  apartment  house,  with  a  suite  of 
rooms  in  which  everything  is  furnished,  is  calculated  to  sap  the  manliness  of 
young  Americans  and  so  far  will  in  time  come  to  be  immoral.  That  is 
to  say,  if  everything  is  furnished  for  a  man  he  grows  to  be  a  parasite. 

Our  fathers  hewed  watering  troughs  from  logs.  They  made  buckets  of 
wood  and  thus  became  their  own  coopers.  They  wanted  a  damp-proof 
powder  carton,  and  found  it  in  an  ox  horn,  and  from  other  horns  they  made 
their  buttons,  and  even  swore  by  "  the  great  horn  spoon."  Few  families 
had  much  china  j  fewer  had  tin.  The  plates  were  trenchers  of  wood  turned 
on  home  lathes.  Pottery  though  rude  was  serviceable.  But  the  age  was, 
above  all  others  before  or  since,  the  wood  age.  Wood  of  so  many  good 
sorts  was  ready  to  their  hands.  There  is  no  non-conductor  better  than 
wood.  Place  your  hand  on  a  log  a  foot  away  from  a  blaze  and  you  find 
the  wood  barely  warm.  Finding  colder  winters  here  than  in  England,  the 
settlers  soon  fenced  out  the  winter  by  the  lapped  clapboard  and  the  wain- 
scotted  wall.  Their  vehicles,  even  to  the  axles  as  in  the  "  one  hoss  shay," 
were  all  of  wood  or  leather,  except  perhaps  the  tires  and  linch-pin. 

What  they  could  not  make  they  did  not  want.  They  were  a  fine  example 
of  Socrates'  half  humorous,  wholly  wise  saying,  on  going  through  the  stalls 
of  a  market :  "  How  many  things  there  are  in  the  world  that  I  don't 
need!  " 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  versatility  cultivated  by  their  situation 
in  life  was  the  source  of  that  contempt  in  our  ancestors  for  shiftless  people. 
As  a  child  I  remember  the  term  shiftless  used  by  my  grandfather  as  an 


•254  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

epithet  of  opprobrium  as  strong  as  any  attaching  to  moral  turpitude.  The 
contrast  was  vast  between  their  time  and  ours,  when  the  same  man  who  lays 
a  brick  cannot  lay  a  tile. 

The  hand  o£  our  grandmother!  It  was  worthy  to  be  carved  in  marble 
by  a  master  and  the  effigy  kept  under  glass  like  the  crown  jewels!  What  of 
deftness  and  cunning  and  experience  and  strength  and  tenderness  did  it 
lack!  Surely  the  hand  —  when  it  is  glorified  by  such  knowledge  and  use 
and  such  a  spirit  —  is  a  fascinating  and  adorable  member,  worthy  to  be 
kissed,  nay  almost  worshiped,  despite  its  wrinkles  and  hardened  knuckles. 
It  founded  and  fed  and  furnished  a  family  and  a  nation. 

FLOOR    COVERINGS 

In  the  ancient  houses  of  persons  in  modest  circumstances  the  rag  carpet 
strips  and  the  braided  rugs  were  all  that  was  necessary.  The  carpet  was 
woven  on  the  great  loom  that  stood  at  one  end  of  the  living  room.  The 
braided  rugs  could  be  formed  in  so  many  patterns  and  sizes  that  they 
afforded  ample  variety.  In  the  best  sorts  the  braids  ended  with  every  revo- 
lution so  as  to  make  a  complete  stripe,  and  were  not  sewn  spirally  round 
and  round. 

When  cotton  was  dear  and  silk  dearer,  every  old  bit  from  a  garment 
and  at  last  the  garment  itself  went  into  the  rugs.  Thus  each  had  an  in- 
dividuality, and  the  mother  as  she  sat  sewing  could  not  cast  her  eyes  down 
without  being  reminded  of  various  members  of  her  family  who  had  once 
worn  what  was  now  a  strand  in  the  rug.  No  wonder  that  these  rugs 
which  wore  like  iron  were  handed  down  two  generations  and  more.  They 
wove  into  their  quaint  colors  the  comedy  and  tragedy  of  the  family  j  they 
were  a  history  of  the  old  years,  and  meant  far  more  than  old  China. 

Their  value  and  durability  was  greater  when  the  braid  was  small  and 
close  and  the  edges  well  turned  in.  They  were  sewn  tightly  with  strong 
linen  threads,  and  it  was  counted  as  a  reproach  to  the  maker  if  a  seam 
started. 

The  round  and  the  oval  shapes  were  most  common.     There  was  a  bit 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  257 

of  brightish  color  in  the  center,  but  for  the  most  part  the  colors  were 
quiet,  and  the  two  or  three  outer  rows  were  dark  or  black  to  give  strength 
to  the  tones. 

But  the  hooked,  or  the  drawn-in  rugs,  two  names  for  the  same  thing, 
are  the  domestic  Wiltons  of  New  England.  Many  beautiful  rugs  of  this 
sort  are  found  in  Vermont.  Made  on  burlap  by  the  same  method  as  the 
white  counterpanes  with  candle  wicking  decorations,  they  called  for  every 
bit  of  artistic  genius  the  housewife  possessed.  Some  of  the  handsomer 
large  ones  have  been  disposed  of  in  recent  years  for  fabulous  prices. 

COLONIAL    JOURNEYS 

It  was  many  years  after  the  settlement  of  these  shores  before  anything 
fairly  resembling  a  road  existed.  Finally,  the  Great  and  General  Court  of 
Massachusetts  passed  an  act  to  build  a  road  twelve  miles  west  into  the 
wilderness,  "  That  being  as  far,"  the  act  recited,  "  as  anyone  could  ever 
wish  to  go."  The  first  method  of  travel  was,  of  course,  over  the  Indian 
trails  and  by  horseback,  as  soon  as  the  colonies  had  developed  a  little.  It 
is  a  question  whether  there  is  any  method  superior  even  at  the  present 
time,  provided  one  can  be  sure  of  pleasant  weather.  Winding  along  into  the 
dappling  shadows  beneath  the  trees  of  a  primeval  forest,  coming  out  now 
and  then  into  open  spaces,  was  a  pleasure  shared  by  all  our  ancestors  into 
the  dim  ages  of  romance.  If  there  was  a  lady  on  the  pillion  she  was 
obliged  both  for  safety  and  by  custom  to  throw  her  arms  about  the  cavalier. 
The  superiority  of  this  means  of  travel  becomes  apparent  over  any  modern 
device.  A  horse  requires  no  wider  path  than  a  man,  and  a  journey  alone 
of  any  great  distance  begets  an  intimate  acquaintance  between  the  rider 
and  his  good  beast. 

But  with  the  introduction  of  vehicles  by  the  wealthy  the  old  simple 
custom  passed  away,  and  as  time  went  on  the  stage-coach  came  in. 

Miss  Mary  Emmons  has  supplied  me  with  some  suggestions  and  quo- 
tations from  which  I  incorporate  some  matters  in  this  book. 

Sedan  chairs  in  the  to.wns,  and  chaises  in  town  and  country  became 


258  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

available.  The  stage,  however,  was  supposed  to  be  the  last  word  In 
civilization.  The  taverns  sprang  up  rapidly  on  the  stage  routes.  At  first 
they  were  licensed  with  strict  laws  forbidding  dancing,  singing  and  the 
use  of  tobacco.  Later  these  regulations  fell  into  abeyance  or  were  re- 
pealed and  the  taverns  became  the  centers  of  hospitality  for  the  traveler 
and  the  resident. 

The  innkeepers  were  often  the  most  influential  men  of  the  town.  It 
is  related  of  the  innkeeper  at  Bennington,  Vermont,  that  he  declined 
to  give  a  dinner  to  a  traveler  who  came  to  that  town  on  the  day  of  the 
Battle  of  Bennington,  because  every  good  man  should  be  in  that  fight. 
The  traveler  rejoined  that  he  had  ridden  forty  miles  to  reach  the  battle- 
field as  a  delegate  from  the  Continental  Congress.  The  innkeeper  was 
the  repository  for  all  the  news,  both  local  and  general,  and  when  the 
stage  drew  up  at  his  door  he  was  a  person  to  whom  the  hat  was  doflFed 
with  great  respect.  The  stage  driver  was  the  proverbial  jolly  fellow  and 
magnified  his  office.  Many  old  mile-stones  yet  mark  the  way  of  old 
post  roads  which  developed  from  the  Indian  trails. 

The  old  turnpikes  are  yet  bordered  by  many  a  hostelry  that  once  re- 
sounded with  laughter  and  teemed  with  guests.  When  the  route  between 
Providence  and  Boston  was  established  the  Providence  Gazette  had  this 
item :  "  We  were  rattled  from  Providence  to  Boston  in  four  hours  and 
fifty  minutes.  If  any  one  wants  to  go  faster  he  may  send  to  Kentucky  and 
charter  a  streak  of  lightning."  The  fare  for  this  trip  was  three  dollars. 
Nor  was  stage-coaching  at  all  in  the  nature  of  recreation,  except  for  the 
hardy. 

A  person  who  had  made  such  a  journey  was  like  the  writer  of  Holy 
Writ,  "  he  could  tell  all  his  bones."  The  jolts  were  a  fine  treatment  for  a 
sluggish  liver,  and  those  who  lived  through  the  journey  arrived  well 
exercised  for  the  bountiful  meal  that  awaited  them. 

The  family  trip  to  market  was  also  a  great  event  and  often  occupied  a 
considerable  period.  The  teamsters  at  the  foot  of  a  great  hill  would  couple 
their  teams  and  help  one  another  to  the  crest.     It  was  on  this  account 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  261 

largely  that  villages  grew  up  on  the  tops  of  some  of  the  highest  hills  in 
New  England.  Besides  that,  in  a  sparsely  settled  country  the  people  de- 
sired to  have  wide  views.  It  gave  a  sense  of  fellowship  if  they  could  see 
from  their  homes  the  spire  of  a  distant  village.  Thus  the  marketing 
trips  were  great  social  events  especially  in  the  winter  when  there  was  more 
leisure.    Many  neighbors  participated. 

The  journey  was  made  in  pungs,  deep  laden  with  produce  of  the  farm. 
Firkins  of  butter  and  lard,  kegs  of  maple  syrup,  beans,  cheese  and  knitted 
goods  made  by  the  women,  and  a  medley  of  other  products  lay  in  intimate 
association  beneath  the  fur  robes.  The  housewife  added  a  "  mitchen-box  " 
of  home-cooked  food.  The  ride  became  a  moving  picnic.  Rural  wit 
flashed  back  and  forth  on  the  crisp  air  and  many  an  acquaintance  begun 
under  such  circumstances  became  still  more  intimate  by  the  long  evenings 
at  the  tavern,  where  the  travelers  stopped  for  the  night. 

The  produce,  on  arriving  at  market,  was  bartered  for  such  articles  of 
luxury  as  were  not  produced  at  home.  It  was  necessary  to  have  a  good 
memory  as  one  could  not  telephone  every  five  minutes.  The  technical 
phrase  "  a  market  town  "  came  into  use  by  the  location,  here  and  there,  of 
towns  scattered  at  about  such  distances  as  would  make  it  possible  for  trav- 
elers in  this  manner  to  reach  them. 

It  was  owing  to  this  circumstance  that  such  towns  ,were  all  of  about  the 
same  size  and  importance.  It  was  many  years  before  the  important  city 
overshadowed  its  rivals.  A  single  town,  perhaps  now  decadent,  sent  into 
the  Revolutionary  War  twice  as  many  men  as  could  be  spared  today. 
The  dignity  and  importance  of  a  local  center  was  emphasized  and  the 
leaders  in  such  towns  developed  to  such  a  point  of  capacity  and  dignity 
that  they  felt  themselves  the  equal  of  the  best  in  the  land. 

A   BACKWARD   GLANCE 

Had  we  followed  the  itinerant  schoolmaster  in  his  wanderings  from 
week  to  week  or  the  traveling  shoemaker  or  the  parson  who  looked  in  for 
a  call  and  in  accordance  with  the  old-time  hospitality  was  urged  to  stay 


262  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

for  a  "  bite  "  we  should  have  had  an  opportunity  to  see  varied  arrange- 
ments of  serving  food,  fully  as  interesting  as  the  modern  course  dinner 
with  its  multiplicity  of  devices.  We  might  have  sat  at  a  plain  board  laid  on 
trestles,  a  relic  of  Saxon  days,  or  a  "  long  table  "  where  both  sides  were 
occupied  and  not  one,  as  was  the  ancient  custom,  or  a  "  drawing  table," 
which  was  really  an  extension  table  as  it  truly  needed  to  be  in  those  hospi- 
table days.  Had  we  taken  a  meal  at  a  "  chair  table,"  which  could  be  con- 
verted from  one  article  to  another,  we  might  have  had  premonition,  not 
altogether  alluring,  of  some  of  our  present  combination  furniture  so  fear- 
fully and  wonderfully  made.  Or  we  might  have  been  confused  by  the 
intricacies  of  the  "  hundred  leg  table  "  which  could  be  attached  to  hold 
the  flaps  at  either  end  and  so  accommodate  a  large  number  of  persons.  A 
portion  of  one  of  these  tables  still  in  existence  is  over  seven  feet  wide. 
They  were  made,  like  all  sensible  things,  to  fit  a  need  as  in  the  case  of  one 
of  most  curious  form,  called  "  three  tables  forming  a  horseshoe  for  the 
benefit  of  the  fire." 

The  table  covering  went  through  a  change  in  name  and  form  before 
our  present  white  damask  became  common.  The  cover  was  called  board 
cloth,  and  was  trimmed,  when  means  permitted,  with  lace,  and  richly  em- 
broidered in  colors.    The  napkins  were  of  the  same  style  and  much  prized. 

The  lack  of  table  utensils  and  the  peculiarity  of  those  in  use  would 
have  embarrassed  us,  like  an  invitation  to  eat  with  chop  sticks.  Like  Penel- 
ope, suflfering  the  agonies  of  breaking  an  egg  at  an  English  breakfast 
table,  we  should  scarcely  have  known  the  knack  of  the  proprieties,  and  we 
certainly  could  not  have  eaten  with  our  forks. 

The  table  ware  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  was  meager.  Governor  Winthrop 
had  sent  to  him  in  1633  the  first  fork  used  in  America  and  the  note  accom- 
panying it  was,  "  A  fork  for  the  useful  applycation  of  which  I  leave  to 
your  discretion."  We  are  not  told  what  purpose  the  fork  was  made  to 
serve. 

"  The  standing  salt "  was  often  the  most  important  piece  of  plate  and, 
as  in  England,  the  social  standing  of  guests  was  determined  by  the  posi- 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  265 

tion  of  the  seat  above  or  below  the  salt.     Is  this  why  the  spilling  o£  salt 
between  two  people  assumed  such  a  significance? 

The  table  furnishings  of  the  New  England  planters  were  chiefly 
trenchers,  square  blocks  of  wood  whittled  out  by  hand.  Often  only  one 
graced  the  board  of  an  entire  family.  Woe  be  to  the  modern  theory  of 
germs  and  the  intricate  methods  of  housekeeping!  These  wooden  dishes 
gave  way  to  pewter  ware,  and  this,  in  its  turn,  about  the  time  of  the 
Revolutionary  War,  to  porcelain. 


INDEPENDENCE 


The  joy  of  achievement!  Who  has  not  felt  it  in  a  greater  or  less 
measure?  Who,  indeed,  but  the  fawning  dependent  creature  who  is  fond 
of  quoting  "  The  Lord  will  provide  "?  as  He  does  indeed  by  the  painstak- 
ing, unselfish  labor  of  some  one  who  is  ready  to  carry  the  burden.  In 
the  days  of  our  forefathers  there  was  not  so  much  temptation  to  leauj  for 
the  very  nature  of  the  work  necessary  to  sustain  life  prompted  independ- 
ence. Was  it  not  in  a  way  a  struggle  for  "  the  survival  of  the  fittest  "? 
It  was  taken  for  granted,  not  argued  or  timidly  requested  by  faltering 
parents,  that  children  should  assume  their  rightful  share  of  the  day's 
duties.  Much  of  the  boys'  spare  time  was  given  to  chopping  wood,  carry- 
ing water  and  feeding  the  horses,  while  the  girls  no  less  employed  the 
time  to  their  own  and  others'  advantage  by  spinning,  sewing,  weaving,  wip- 
ing dishes  or  sweeping.  These  habits  bore  fruit  by  producing  sturdy,  in- 
dependent, thrifty  men  and  women.  The  sternness  and  simplicity  of  their 
struggle  for  existence  rooted  in  them  the  principles  that  made  them  men, 
not  weaklings.  Was  not  a  young  man  in  those  days  spared  to  a  certain 
extent  the  often  harrowing  stage  when  he  must  decide  whether  he  would  be 
"  doctor,  lawyer,  merchant,  thief  "?  when  every  man  must  be  his  own  pro- 
vider and  it  was  clear  that  he  must  do  the  "  next  thing." 

If  one  now  is  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  the  "  wherewithal,"  the  neces- 
sity for  independence  has  relaxed,  and  a  weak  character  results.  Ma- 
chinery has  superseded  handwork  and  we  know  that  to  some  extent  this  is 


266  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

disadvantageous.  Yet  the  traits  of  our  forefathers  can  be  traced  in  many 
directions.  The  same  self-respect,  courage,  determination  and  ability  are 
apparent  in  the  magnificent  achievements  of  today  —  the  tunnels,  the  vast 
irrigation  works  in  the  West  reclaiming  the  waste  lands,  the  canal  with  its 
great  locks  and  dams,  the  construction  of  which  seems  almost  superhuman 
—  these  and  many  other  things  show  that  our  ancestors  did  not  struggle 
in  vain. 

A    RAISING 

When  iron  was  rare  and  valuable,  it  was  usual  to  frame  the  house  with- 
out it.  Mortice  and  tenon  were  used  to  make  all  connections  and  these 
were  pinned  with  wood.  The  frame  of  the  entire  side  would  fasten  to- 
gether lying  on  the  ground.  When  all  was  ready,  invitations  were  sent 
far  and  wide  and  it  was  regarded  as  the  duty,  as  well  as  the  pleasure,  of 
every  one  summoned  to  lend  his  presence.  The  entire  side  of  heavy 
timbers  was  lifted  at  once  and  held  in  place  while  another  was  raised 
to  match  it.  Then  the  young  and  agile  men  received  the  roof  pieces  and 
at  length  with  appropriate  ceremonies  one  of  the  more  daring  sat  upon  the 
ridge  pole  and  led  the  cheers.  Thus  the  work  of  many  months  hastened  to 
immediate  completion. 

Merry  girls  flitted  about  and  distributed  the  refreshments  provided  by 
the  host  —  cider,  doughnuts,  cheese,  and  sometimes  a  formal  "  raising  " 
supper  was  served. 

THE  TIME  OF  DAY 

We,  with  our  watches  and  numerous  clocks,  are  hardly  able  to  imagine 
ourselves  without  any  adequate  method  of  keeping  time. 

Our  fathers  welcomed  the  tall  clocks  and  counted  them  as  objects  worthy 
of  rich  ornament  and  scrupulous  care.  Before  clocks  could  be  afforded 
men  became  quite  adept  at  estimating  the  time  of  day  merely  by  looking 
at  the  sun. 

The  almanac  derived  its  great  importance  from  the  lack  of  time-keepers. 
Twice  on  every  fair  day,  at  sunrise  and  sunset,  an  isolated  family  could 


OLD    NEW    ENGLAND    HOMES  269 

check  the  time  roughly  by  the  almanac.  I  remember  that  my  grandfather 
could  tell  the  noon  hour  within  ten  minutes  by  a  glance  at  the  sun.  Persons 
of  a  very  regular  habit  also  have  a  time-keeper  in  their  stomachs. 

Then,  also,  some  had  sun-dials,  but  as  there  ,were  only  two  days  in  the 
year  when  the  dial  was  accurate,  a  more  or  less  involved  problem  was 
necessary  to  ascertain  the  precise  time.  It  is,  perhaps,  owing  to  their  habit 
of  following  the  sun  that  our  fathers  rose  so  early  in  the  summer.  "We 
joke  about  the  early  hours  of  retiring  in  the  country.  It  is  probable,  how- 
ever, that  city  dwellers  sleep  longer  than  their  country  cousins.  If  the 
settler  went  to  bed  with  the  chickens,  he  also  arose  with  them  and  his  hours 
of  activity  of  mind  and  body  were  greater  than  our  own. 

In  winter  it  was,  of  course,  necessary  to  take  breakfast  and  supper  by 
candle  light  or  by  the  "  hearth-fire's  ruddy  glow."  The  winter,  however, 
was  not  the  season  when  important  labors  pressed  upon  the  settler.  Aside 
from  the  care  of  his  beasts,  the  ploughing  out  of  the  roads  after  the  snows 
and  the  getting  up  of  the  annual  store  of  wood,  his  out-door  duties  were 
intermitted. 

Many  of  his  winter  days  were  given  to  making  plain  and  simple  articles 
of  furniture,  for  which  we  are  now  ready  to  pay  nearly  their  weight  in 
silver. 

Another  means  of  time  reckoning  was  by  the  hour  glass,  but  this  re- 
quired some  one  to  watch  it  and  turn  it  over  the  moment  the  sand  had  run 
through.  Hour  glasses  were  therefore  especially  appropriate  for  desks 
where  people  worked  regularly,  as  the  parson  or  the  professional  writer. 

The  term  "  sparking  "  to  designate  that  ancient  Saturday  night  custom 
of  calling  on  a  sweetheart,  was  probably  derived  from  the  sparking  lamp. 
An  open  but  deep  vessel  of  glass  had  poured  into  it  such  a  quantity  of 
oil  by  the  watchful  mother  as  she  considered  proper  to  burn  during  the 
young  man's  call.  On  the  oil  was  placed  a  floating  wick  which  gave  a  dim 
light,  it  is  true,  but  probably  enough  to  suit  the  persons  concerned.  The 
mother  therefore  had  in  the  sparking  lamp  a  means  of  showing  her  opinion 
of  the  suitor.     If  he  were  a  young  man  likely  to  do  well  in  the  world 


270  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

and  of  good  character  she  allowed  her  hand  to  let  the  oil  flow  more  gener- 
ously than  otherwise. 

It  was  not  considered  proper  for  a  caller  to  remain  after  the  oil  was 
exhausted.  It  formed  a  variable  time-keeper.  We  may  picture  the  anxious 
look  of  the  swain  at  the  condition  of  the  lamp  when  it  was  brought  into  the 
best  room. 


XLIII.    THE   FUTURE   OF   VERMONT 

WHILE  people  cannot  move  mountains  they  can  do  almost  anything 
else  to  make  or  mar  a  state.  The  people  of  Vermont  control  the 
future  of  Vermont  in  a  physical  as  well  as  in  a  social  sense. 

The  population  of  Vermont  was  not  many  years  since  of  one  class  and 
one  race.  The  state  was  a  fine  example  of  that  unity  of  people  which 
used  to  be  counted  an  important  social  advantage.  It  was  thought  that 
here  in  the  north  was  one  region  at  least  where  early  American  traditions 
could  be  carried  out  by  a  people  descended  from  British  ancestry.  No- 
where except  in  the  mountain  states  of  the  south  was  the  population 
so  largely  native. 

It  is  a  darling  dream,  —  that  of  a  country  of  one  race,  one  religion,  one 
condition  of  comfort  without  wealth.  But  it  is  a  dream  from  which  Ver- 
mont has  awakened  with  something  of  surprise  and  perhaps  of  sorrow. 
It  is  true,  and  easily  seen  to  be  true,  looking  backward,  that  not  all  the 
people  were  worthy  and  wise.  There  were  here  and  there  marks  of  neglect 
as  one  journeyed  through  the  state.  Antiquated  methods  of  farming  were 
common. 

But  that  spirit  of  independence  and  self-sufliciency  which  had  become  a 
second  nature  of  her  people,  derived  from  her  revolutionary  experience, 
had  been  depended  upon  to  work  out  a  social  condition  of  the  most  attractive 
rural  type.  What  might  have  eventuated  it  is  perhaps  useless  to  speculate 
here.     For  the  mark  of  every  sane  mind  is  to  take  account  of  conditions, 


THE    FUTURE    OF    VERMONT  273 

not  of  theories.  Vermont  is  in  a  state  o£  rapid  flux  when  viewed  by  the 
long  vision  of  history.  To  a  considerable  extent  it  is  becoming  a  new 
French  Canadian  province.  How  far  the  influx  of  the  prolific  French 
families  is  to  modify  old  Vermont  one  would  be  a  daring  prophet  to  de- 
clare. It  is  impossible  to  forecast  with  any  degree  of  probability  the  extent 
to  which  the  French  immigration  will  continue}  it  is  not  possible  to  know 
whether  the  present  numerical  superiority  of  a  French  over  a  Yankee 
family  will  be  maintained}  it  is  not  possible  to  say  just  what  the  social 
reaction  of  the  mixture  of  races  will  be. 

If  we  glance  at  the  history  of  French  Canada  we  observe  first  of  all  that 
its  people  are  conservative  to  an  extreme  degree.  That  conservatism  marks 
the  French  character  in  the  old  world  as  well.  Outside  of  Paris  the  French 
are  an  exceedingly  stiff  and  unvarying  people,  in  their  work  and  their  ideals. 
There  is  no  valid  reason  for  supposing  that  the  French  nature  will  change 
in  any  important  degree.  True,  the  impulse  of  change  which  has  brought 
about  this  French  immigration  may  be  thought  to  indicate  that  the  immi- 
grant is  more  receptive  of  new  ideas  than  his  congener  who  remained  be- 
hind on  the  Canadian  home  acres.  But  the  hope  of  bettering  one's  self 
financially  may  not  mark  any  awakening  to  new  aspects  of  life  in  general. 

The  conservatism  of  the  French  Canadian  may  prove  a  valuable  asset 
on  the  American  side  of  the  line,  where  society  seems  at  times  in  danger  of 
being  shifted  too  fast  and  in  a  wrong  direction.  At  the  basis  of  any  great 
and  durable  state  lies  that  love  of  the  land,  and  that  continuance  on  it  which 
has  marked  the  Kelt  in  all  generations.  A  stable  farm  life  is  the  necessary 
condition  for  the  progress  of  any  nation.  As  soon  as  the  farming  popula- 
tion become  restive,  and  on  slight  excuse,  or  no  excuse  at  all,  leave  behind 
their  ancient  occupation  and  seek  a  new  one,  so  soon  is  a  state  completely 
upset  and  in  extreme  peril.  It  was  this  change  that  overthrew  Italy  in 
the  classic  period.  It  appears  to  all  careful  students  that  a  people  who 
will  stick  to  the  land,  through  good  season  and  bad  season,  who  will  carry 
on  farm  work  whether  it  offers  the  highest  rewards  or  not  are  the  greatest 
asset  of  any  state  and  the  necessary  foundation  of  any  state. 


274  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

The  author  once  tried  to  purchase  from  a  Kelt  a  farm.  It  was  not 
ancestral  in  the  Kelt's  family.  The  ofFer  gradually  rose  to  nearly  three 
times  the  intrinsic  value,  as  the  farm  was  desired  by  the  prospective  pur- 
chaser for  ulterior  reasons.  But  no  amount  of  persuasion  would  avail,  and 
we  are  sure  that  the  offer  if  doubled  again  would  still  have  been  declined. 
The  owner  was  not  a  good  farmer,  nor  a  very  diligent  man.  But  he 
simply  clung  to  his  land.  The  love  of  the  Irish  for  a  piece  of  land  is 
proverbial.  We  are  bound  to  say  that  the  trait  is  profoundly  beneficial  to 
society  at  large.  It  will  be  a  sad  day  when  men  cease  to  joy  in  the  owner- 
ship of  land  and  acquire  the  tenant  habit.  If  the  French  people  who  are 
buying  Vermont  farms  remain  unchanged  in  their  habit  of  clinging  to 
their  lands  these  immigrants  aside  from  any  other  merits  or  demerits  that 
may  mark  them,  will  prove  ultimately  good  citizens.  The  stabilizing 
effect  of  acre  ownership  is  superior  to  any  other  known  force  in  society.  It 
is  not  likely  that  what  has  ever  been  true  in  this  regard  will  change. 

How  far  the  similar  persistence  in  the  French  immigrants  in  maintain- 
ing their  own  language  will  go  is  somewhat  uncertain.  But  the  tendency 
is  to  the  adoption  of  English  in  a  far  greater  degree  than  in  Canada,  for 
the  reason  that  whereas  in  Canada  the  French  populations  are  solid  bodies, 
generally,  they  are  in  Vermont  naturally  scattered  here  and  there  among 
English  people.  We  may  well  believe  also  that  the  predominant  English 
race  will  force,  through  schools  and  courts  and  trade  relations  the  final  and 
general  adoption  of  English  speech.  Otherwise  Vermont  would  become 
a  state  with  communities  growing  up  here  and  there  cut  off  by  alien  speech 
from  the  body  of  the  nation's  people  —  always  a  danger,  often  a  catastro- 
phe. We  saw  in  Canada  during  the  great  war  the  remarkable  phenomenon 
of  a  French  people  going  grudgingly  to  the  aid  of  their  motherland 
France.  The  cause  of  this  unwillingness  for  war  is  doubtless  assignable 
in  part  to  other  reasons  than  the  almost  hermitlike  life  of  segregation 
marking  rural  French  Canada,  but  that  parochial  self-sufficiency,  fostered 
by  their  speech,  is  yet  a  partial  reason  for  the  general  unwillingness  to  enter 
on  the  rescue  of  France. 


l^^'TVf' 


THE    FUTURE    OF    VERMONT  277 

We  are  perhaps  safe  in  believing  that  the  present  vigorous  movement 
of  Americanization  will  not  be  turned  aside  successfully  by  the  French  im- 
migrant. 

Turning  to  another  community  to  reinforce  our  main  thought,  we  see  in 
parts  of  old  fashioned  rural  Pennsylvania  a  persistence  of  habit  that  has 
been  a  vast  source  of  strength  to  the  state  and  the  nation.  The  descendants 
of  German  and  Dutch  settlers,  especially  the  former,  have  by  their  steady 
continuance  in  devoting  themselves  to  the  soil  established  a  rural  com- 
munity unrivalled  in  many  of  its  merits  by  any  in  this  country.  For  we 
must  never  forget  that  not  genius,  nor  even  learning,  is  the  mainstay  of 
the  state,  but  the  continual  efforts  of  the  average  man,  age  after  age,  to 
subdue  the  earth  and  rule  over  it. 

Going  back  now  to  Vermont,  we  find  it  a  state  dependent  more  than 
most  upon  the  undiscouraged  efforts  of  the  farmer  who  tills  his  own  farm 
of  moderate  size,  keeps  wild  game  from  swarming  down  from  the  hills, 
keeps  the  roads  and  the  schools  open,  and  goes  on  steadily  holding  society 
together,  consciously  or  unconsciously  waiting  for  a  better  day.  So  long 
as  every  boy  looks  upon  himself  as  a  possible  future  President  of  the 
United  States  America  will  be  secure.  It  is  the  taming  of  the  world  in 
waiting  hope  that  makes  the  future  secure. 

If  some  deplore  the  taking  over  of  Vermont  acres  by  the  French  people 
we  can  only  reply  to  them  that  if  Americans  abandon  their  birthright  it 
is  far  better  that  other  peoples  should  take  the  land  than  that  it  relapse 
into  a  wilderness.  For  the  truth  must  be  faced  j  there  are  not  enough 
farmer's  boys  left  in  Vermont  who  are  willing  to  work  the  ancestral  acres. 
The  future  of  the  state  must  therefore  be  worked  out  by  the  old  in- 
habitants, together  with  the  immigrants,  to  save  the  fair  hills  to  use  and 
beauty.  There  are  happily  a  remnant  of  the  old  stock  who  love  their 
old  homes  and  their  occupation.  They  have  produced  the  Morgan  horse j 
they  have  demonstrated  the  possible  profitableness  of  hill  farms  j  they 
have  shown  the  feasibility  of  combining  hand  work  with  head  work  so  as 
to  produce  a  generation  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  the  peasant  con- 


278  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

dition.  Of  course  it  is  conceivable  that  Vermont  may  become  predominantly 
foreign.  But  even  that  condition  is  not  as  sad  to  contemplate  as  the 
giving  up  of  a  good  acre  to  grow  wild  again  —  a  sight  more  pregnant  of 
disaster  than  any  other.  The  reaction  of  American  ideals  is  very  potent. 
We  are  hopeful  concerning  the  future  of  Vermont.  We  believe  that  as 
soon  as  the  unrest  left  by  the  great  war  has  been  calmed,  the  return  to  the 
land  on  the  part  of  a  select  class  of  old  Americans  may  be  hoped  for. 

Meanwhile  there  is  work  for  all  in  developing  the  state  of  Vermont. 
Idle  hands  are  so  only  from  preference.  What  we  hope  is  the  only  fine 
stimulus  for  what  we  do.  The  hopes  of  nations  and  of  communities  may 
rise  and  fall,  but  in  the  main  there  is  advance  in  the  conditions  of  country 
life.  We  see  also  in  the  diversity  of  Vermont's  physical  resources  a  reason 
for  hope.  A  prairie  state  is  naturally  given  over  largely  to  one  sort  of 
occupation  and  one  main  crop. 

The  very  diversity  of  Vermont's  surface  tends  to  that  greatest  ad- 
vantage of  the  agriculturist  —  mixed  farming.  When  to  this  varied  sort 
of  farming  we  add  the  manufacturing  which  the  lumber,  granite  and  marble 
of  Vermont  stimulates,  we  obtain  a  healthful  society,  mutually  reacting, 
each  part  to  the  advantage  of  the  other. 

In  the  midst  of  this  necessary  attention  to  labor,  if  the  Vermonter  does 
not  forget  the  winning  quality  of  his  state  upon  the  tourist  he  will  do  well. 
What  attracts  a  tourist  is  not  so  much  an  occasional  center  of  thrift,  as  a 
general  appearance  of  well-being  over  the  entire  countryside.  Of  course 
we  all  enthusiastically  admit  that  a  fertile,  well  cared  for,  well-watered, 
well-wooded  countryside,  with  grazing  herds,  neat  farm  buildings  and 
fair  roads,  is  the  most  delightful  vision  that  bursts  on  a  weary  mankind. 
It  calls  us  back  to  paradise,  or  what  is  better,  to  making  a  paradise  of  our 
own.  The  original  paradise  was  merely  a  sample.  Men  were  driven 
out  of  it  in  order  that  after  repeated  and  age-long  experiment  they  might 
erect  a  newer  paradise,  of  which  they  would  become  careful,  since  they 
themselves  erected  it,  and  knew  its  worth. 

Vermont  for  its  future  will  need,  at  least  it  will  be  greatly  helped  by, 


THE    FUTURE    OF    VERMONT  281 

the  admiration  and  enthusiasm  of  the  outsider.  The  people  from  far 
cities  who  travel  in  Vermont  will  at  last  enthuse  the  last  Vermonter  over 
his  own  state.  There  is  need  of  this  inspirational  work  though  perhaps 
the  Vermonter  may  repudiate  the  idea.  He  has  only  to  be  asked  to  make 
up  a  tally  of  the  Vermonters  who  have  departed  from  the  state  of  their 
birth.  The  country  swarms  with  them.  They  love  their  state,  but  they 
love  it  from  afarj  they  sing  its  praises  but  they  no  longer  see  its  beauties 
except  at  rare  intervals.  Therefore  there  are  many  Vermonters  who  need 
to  be  kept  in  Vermont,  men  who  do  not  know  that  they  already  possess 
whatever  of  paradise  is  still  left  for  men.  The  winters  of  Vermont  seem 
to  some  of  its  people  a  grim  answer  to  such  an  assertion.  But  woe  to  the 
race  that  comes  to  regard  cold  weather  as  the  enemy  of  man,  or  a  ban  on  his 
development  or  enjoyment.  Various  hotels  are  already  teaching  Ver- 
monters that  their  winters  are  one  of  the  State's  great  attractions.  It  is 
said  by  hotel  men  south  of  Vermont  that  they  cannot  depend  upon  steady 
cold  weather  for  ,winter  sports,  and  that  it  is  in  Vermont  that  they  find 
most  accessibly  a  steady  cold  in  a  region  of  natural  beauty.  It  may  be  that 
the  winter  climate  of  Vermont,  which  has  been  thought  by  many  shrink- 
ing emigrants  a  handicap,  will  in  time  come  to  be  regarded  as  her  best 
feature,  for  health,  rest,  beauty  and  finally  for  fertility.  For  on  the  last 
depends  largely  the  quickly  springing  grass,  always  greenest  under  a  snow- 
drift. At  this  very  point  it  is  important  to  meet  squarely  the  popular  and 
erroneous  notion  that  cold  weather  counts  against  a  climate.  To  begin 
with,  it  is  true  that  in  no  part  of  our  country  do  people  suffer  so  much  from 
the  cold  as  in  the  South.  The  writer  never  came  so  near  perishing  from 
cold  as  in  Florida  in  December,  because  he  was  not  prepared  to  resist  cold. 
The  people  of  the  South  not  requiring  good  houses  seldom  build  them. 
Not  finding  the  necessity  of  thrift  they  are  less  formed  in  habits  of  sound 
economy.  South  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  commercial  credits  average 
much  longer  than  north  of  that  line. 

That  is  only  another  way  of  illustrating  the  effect  of  climate  on  character. 
It  has  always  required  cold  weather  to  tone  men  up.     Cold  weather  is  a 


282  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

wonderful  stimulus  to  architecture,  to  invention,  to  manufactures,  to 
community  of  effort  and  interest. 

Let  the  inert,  the  anemic,  the  drones  seek  the  life  of  the  South  if  they 
will.  A  little  visit  to  a  warmer  district  in  winter  may  prove  a  reasonable 
and  pleasing  relaxation  for  a  Vermonter.  But  any  one  who  investigates 
will  learn  that  the  work  which  sets  the  world  forward  is  done  at  home, 
by  the  Vermonter,  who  cannot  relax  and  labor  at  the  same  time. 

The  influence  of  climate  on  ideas  is  a  subject  that  will  bear  more  study 
than  it  has  ever  received.  But  let  the  Vermonter  ask  himself  this  one 
question:  What  will  the  future  of  my  children  be  in  the  South,  as  com- 
pared with  their  future  in  the  state  of  their  birth?  There  is  but  one 
answer.     Independence  and  activity  will  be  nurtured  best  at  home. 

But  the  encouragement  which  the  Vermonter  needs,  in  many  instances, 
to  stay  at  home,  rather  than  emigrate,  is  still  further  given  by  pointing 
out  to  him  attractions  of  his  state  which  he  has  failed  to  recognize.  This 
statement  seems  extremely  conceited.  But  judged  by  figures  it  does  not 
prove  so.  The  Vermonter  continues  to  leave  home  and  does  not  come 
back.  Hence  the  advantage  of  an  occasional  poet-capitalist  who  settles  in 
the  state  and  combs  out  the  beauty  of  a  countryside.  Travel,  if  the  traveler 
is  awake,  certainly  tends  to  disseminate  good  ideas,  and  the  Vermonter 
who  travels  forth  and  returns  again  has  learned  by  comparison  the  ad- 
vantages of  his  home  state.  It  would  be  too  tedious  to  mention  the  many 
persons  who  like  the  Evarts  family  of  Windsor  have  held  and  developed 
their  home  acres,  although  the  keenness  of  their  minds  has  called  them 
forth  to  fight  successfully  in  the  nation's  more  populous  centers.  There  are 
those  who  believe  William  M.  Evarts  was  the  best  intellect  of  his  day. 
He  was  molded  by  the  first  Vermont  influences  and  he  never  forgot  his 
debt  to  his  native  state. 

No  doubt  in  the  process  of  time  other  men  will  arise  to  render  their 
nation  illustrious,  and  to  give  dignity  to  its  native  manhood.  Meantime  let 
us  rejoice  in  the  opportunity  Vermont  has  to  produce  such  men.  Most  of 
all  let  us  indulge  the  hope  that  the  conditions  that  rendered  an  Evarts  possi- 
ble will  continue,  guarded  jealously  by  the  loyal  Vermonter.    That  loyal 


THE    FUTURE    OF   VERMONT  285 

Vermonter  will  know  that  the  only  state  worth  saving  is  a  state  capable  o£ 
yielding  both  beauty  and  strength. 

The  future  of  Vermont  is  therefore,  even  on  the  physical  side,  dependent 
on  the  sort  of  men  who  are  to  form  her  inhabitants. 

The  conservation  of  her  forests  to  prevent  floods,  the  steady  and  har- 
monious development  of  all  her  resources  so  that  no  one  development  kills 
another,  these  must  come  about  through  a  wise  citizenship  who  intend  to 
live  all  their  lives  with  Vermont  as  their  front  yard. 

THE    VERMONTER    OUTSIDE    VERMONT 

There  have  sprung  up,  in  various  parts  of  our  country,  Vermont 
societies,  devoted  to  retelling  old  tales  of  the  state  their  members 
love,  to  renewing  boyhood  associations,  to  binding  all  concerns  of  life  to 
sentiment,  and  to  concerting  measures  for  the  good  of  Vermont.  We 
must  look  largely  to  such  societies  to  do  necessary  things  for  the  state,  which 
will  perhaps  otherwise  remain  undone. 

Living  out  of  Vermont  members  of  these  societies  are  able  to  gain  a  truer 
perspective,  perhaps,  of  the  State  and  its  needs,  than  are  the  people  within 
its  own  borders. 

These  societies,  when  once  they  have  seriously  studied  the  matter, 
will  know  what  must  attract  the  general  public  to  Vermont,  and  the  scat- 
tering of  facts  about  the  state  will  prove  of  great  advantage.  For  Ver- 
mont only  needs  the  truth  told  about  her  in  order  to  be  loved.  Without 
meaning  to  be  invidious  we  are  obliged  to  admit  that  certain  western  states 
have  spread  abroad  golden  propaganda  which  those  induced  by  this  means 
to  settle  in  those  states  have  not  always  found  borne  out  by  the  facts. 

There  is  enough  natural  beauty  in  Vermont  to  induce  admiration,  and 
it  is  in  part  the  self  appointed  but  humble  though  joyful  mission  of  this 
book  to  point  out  a  few  of  those  beauties.  There  is  enough  natural  wealth, 
good  climate,  and  enough  of  all  that  renders  human  life  worth  while, 
within  the  limits  of  Vermont,  to  afford  abundant  material  to  all  who  wish 
to  set  the  facts  forth.  The  serious  and  unhappy  fact  is  that  we  in  America 
have  often  held  cheap  things  in  esteem,  and  ignored  what  was  of  most 


286  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

worth.  A  fair  and  fruitful  state,  within  three  or  four  hours  of  salt  water, 
within  two  hours  of  great  cities,  set  among  hills,  dotted  with  lakes,  green 
with  the  wealth  of  forest  and  field,  rich  in  corn  and  flocks,  romantic  in  its 
traditions,  proud  of  its  history  and  altogether  attractive  economically  and 
aesthetically,  such  a  state  cannot  much  longer  fail  to  be  appreciated  at 
its  true  and  great  worth.  We  bespeak  success  to  all  Vermont  Societies  and 
wisdom  to  all  their  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  most  homelike  of  all  states. 

Indeed  this  book  will  appeal  more  to  the  Vermonter  who  lives  far  from 
his  native  state  than  to  him  who  remains  in  the  old  home.  The  non- 
resident needs  most  some  reminder  of  the  old  home.  A  dealer  in  pictures, 
in  the  city  of  Denver,  once  said :  "  What  I  want  is  pictures  in  my  window 
such  that  people  will  stop  before  them  and  weep."  He  wanted  a  call 
in  the  picture,  to  the  eye,  that  would  bring  back,  in  a  rush  of  sentiment, 
all  the  memories  of  childhood.  The  brow  of  the  hill  around  which  the 
road  curved,  and  where  the  maples  waved  in  the  wind,  the  cottage  under 
the  elm  J  the  brook  by  the  foot  of  the  hillj  the  bars  let  down  as  the  cows 
came  homej  the  home  turn  into  the  dear  old  front  yard,  and  all  the 
thousand  nameless  charms  that  overflow  the  heart  and  make  life  some- 
thing better  than  a  tread-mill.  And  is  that  not  what  we  all  crave?  We 
recognize,  though  we  may  be  too  proud  or  cynical  to  admit  it,  the  value  of 
sentiment.  We  love  the  calls  that  are  most  human,  and  we  look  with 
longing  even  at  scenes  that  recall  hardship. 

When  the  last  account  is  cast  up  and  we  forget  all  about  the  price  of 
hay  and  corn  we  shall  still  hold  in  dearest  memory  the  picture  of  the  boy 
perched  high  on  the  load  of  hay,  and  the  tugging  horses  as  they  rush 
across  the  barn  bridge  through  the  great  doors  to  escape  the  shower.  We 
shall  remember  the  husking,  the  many  lanterns,  the  great  mows  of  hay  as 
the  background,  the  vast  piles  of  yellow  corn,  the  eagerness  of  the  young 
faces  in  the  flickering  light! 

It  is  better  than  pelf,  better  than  glory,  more  lasting  than  any  dazzling 
success.  For  it  is  life  in  its  universal  aspect,  its  hearty  honest  hopeful 
struggle,  its  helpful  kindness,  its  halo  of  neighborly  trust  and  good  will 
over  all. 


\f> 


W^'."..  \ 


RED    LETTER    DAYS    IN    VERMONT  289 

In  simplicity,  in  homely  comfort,  in  true  warm  friendship,  in  helping 
one's  neighbor,  in  the  hope  of  sowing,  in  the  joy  of  harvest,  in  the  glow 
of  morning  and  the  quiet  of  twilight  glow  over  the  Western  hills  we  leave 
our  dear  state  —  till  another  occasion. 


XLIV.    RED    LETTER    DAYS   IN   VERMONT 

ABOUT  the  time  the  century  came  in  we  lived  a  summer  in  St.  Johns- 
bury.  The  horse  we  hired  was  Old  Harry,  the  "  old  "  being  an 
adjective  of  endearment,  not  of  moral  opprobrium.  Old  Harry  was  a 
Morgan  —  the  horse  whose  Arab  strain,  developed  for  lightness,  quickness, 
and  bottom,  has  given  us  the  finest  equine  known  for  hilly  regions. 

At  first  the  steep  hills  were  frightful,  especially  their  descent.  But  after 
a  few  experiences,  we  found  that  Old  Harry,  when  given  his  head,  for  he 
was  never  checked,  would  scramble  up  and  scamper  down  the  boldest  slopes 
safely  and  expeditiously.  He  was  old,  yet  he  went  farther  in  a  day  than 
the  standards  set  for  a  city  horse.  Old  Harry  never  seemed  to  feel  a 
weakness.  He  showed  us  the  beauties  of  a  large  part  of  Vermont.  By- 
roads were  his  joy.  His  careful  attention  to  business,  his  good  temper 
and  good  heart,  have  left  an  ineffaceable  impression,  .which  is  blended  in 
memory  with  the  beautiful  experiences  of  the  summer. 

Under  a  birch  grove  we  gave  Old  Harry  his  oats  at  noon,  and  ate  with 
gusto  what  our  dear  landlady  had  prepared  for  us.  Over  in  the  high- 
lands of  Concord  we  came  upon  wonderful  clumps  of  beeches,  birches,  and 
maples.  Along  the  shores  of  the  Connecticut  we  passed  a  farm  with 
three  thousand  maples  in  its  sugar  orchard!  In  the  higher  valleys  were 
many  little  farms,  each  with  its  little  wedge-shaped  corn  house,  its  shop, 
its  sugar  house,  and  its  barn.  We  found  the  air  always  cool  in  the  morning 
and  the  evening;  almost  always  by  six  o'clock  one  needed  an  overcoat  when 
driving.  Only  from  ten  to  four  the  power  of  the  sun  made  us  linger  in  the 
shady  ways  to  revel  in  the  flickering  lights,  and  to  watch  the  little  wild  life 
flitting  or  scampering  around  us.    Danvilleward  and  beyond  are  many  high 


290  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

but  fair  round  hills,  as  smoothly  covered  with  grass  or  corn  as  any  meadow. 
Rank  on  rank  of  hills  rise  to  the  eye.  First  come  the  green,  then  blue, 
then  purple,  and  what  is  beyond  is  only  a  dreamy  mist  that  might  veil 
some  greater  beauty. 

In  the  region  about  Vergennes,  during  another  summer,  we  used  to  cross 
the  broad  plains  which  stretch  for  miles,  their  roads  as  straight  as  if  across 
a  prairie.  The  fences  which  bordered  those  roads  were  the  picturesque 
Virginia  rail  fence,  angular,  zigzag,  with  woodbine,  ivy,  or  wild  rose  rising 
above  the  rails  at  the  angles.  There  was  no  lack  of  symmetrical  elms,  of 
stately  old  brick  houses,  of  meandering  streams,  while  always  to  the  east 
the  wall  of  mountains  rose,  challenging  rather  than  forbidding. 

Or  on  another  day,  instead  of  keeping  to  the  plains,  we  pulled  ourselves 
carefully  up  the  great  rock  headlands  of  Champlain,  north  of  Burlington. 
In  the  morning  light,  in  quiet  hours,  the  Adirondacks  stand  out  boldly, 
bounding  the  western  shore.  They  reminded  us  of  the  starker  crags  that 
bound  the  Salton  Sea  in  California.  There  is  not  elsewhere  in  the  East 
any  such  extent  of  beauty,  in  broad  effects  combining  water  and  mountain, 
as  we  see  when  looking  across  Lake  Champlain. 

Not  all  of  our  days  were  spent  in  far  journeys,  however.  Some  were 
pleasantly  passed  in  excursions  for  berries  and  in  the  simple  act  of  picking 
them. 

At  the  edge  of  the  "  cut-down  "  the  wild  strawberries  were  very  sweet 
—  the  conical,  deep  red  berry  with  seeds  lying  outside.  We  gathered  not 
only  enough  for  shortcake,  but  a  surplus  to  preserve.  It  was  the  hottest 
sort  of  pleasure,  for  we  had  to  pick  when  the  grass  was  dry  and  the  June 
sun  baking  hot.  Picking  raspberries  was  more  comfortable,  for  we  gath- 
ered them  by  the  roadside  on  overcast  days.  But  blackberrying  was  an 
unmixed  delight.  With  two  large  pails  and  small  picking  dishes  and  our 
luncheon,  we  started  up  the  mountainside  in  the  August  morning  and 
never  returned  until  the  gloaming.  It  was  part  of  the  ritual  not  only  to 
heap  the  pails  but  to  fill  the  picking  dishes  besides.  In  the  high  pastures, 
under  the  fleeting  clouds,  we  looked  out  on  the  valley,  our  little  world, 
spread  below.    The  days  were  never  too  long. 


RED    LETTER    DAYS    IN    VERMONT  293 

Sometimes  a  party  of  some  size  was  made  up,  and  as  the  picking  pro- 
ceeded the  conversation  did  not  lag,  though  we  learned  that  the  still 
pickers  carried  home  the  heaviest  pails.  Berry  picking  allows  of  almost 
any  topic  of  conversation.  The  theme  of  the  future  career  of  boy  and  girl 
was  common.  With  the  somewhat  sardonic  humor  of  one  farmer,  who 
opined  that  Fred,  a  somewhat  erratic  boy,  "  would  do  well  if  he  kept  out 
of  jail,"  there  was  mingled  the  pride  and  hope  of  some  farmer's  wife  that 
Charles  would  grow  to  be  a  college  professor.  Sometimes  the  picker's 
luck  reminded  one  of  the  wider  channels  of  life.  A  clump  of  bushes  which 
no  one  else  had  found  was  laden  with  big  luscious  fruit,  and  there  the 
pails  filled  rapidly.  Then  one  might  wander  far  with  only  an  occasional 
berry  for  reward. 

In  the  days  after  the  haying,  the  youths  and  elders  occasionally  made 
a  general  picnic  with  the  children  and  went  a-berrying  too.  It  is  said  that 
when  the  hands  of  youth  and  maiden  touched,  as  each,  by  chance,  of  course, 
worked  on  the  same  bush,  life  partnerships  were  made.  On  these  picnics 
old  married  folks  renewed  their  youth  and  their  wooing,  too.  Among  the 
pleasantest  days  of  our  lives  were  those  vacations  from  the  strenuous  toil 
of  town  in  the  mountain  pastures.  It  was  "  seeing  Vermont "  under  the 
most  delightful  auspices. 

Occasionally  we  made  up  a  party  to  ascend  the  higher  shoulders  of  the 
mountains.  There  we  camped  before  a  roaring  fire,  our  feet  toward  it,  in  a 
lean-to  of  saplings  and  evergreen  boughs.  When  we  slept  we  thrust  our 
legs  into  bags  to  keep  warm.  Our  fast  was  broken  with  the  food  we  had 
taken  with  us,  together  with  highbush  cranberries  which  grow  far  up  on 
the  mountain  side.  We  sweetened  them  with  maple  sugar  which  we  had 
brought  along.  With  an  appetite  sharpened  by  hunger  after  our  sharp 
climb,  we  had  a  dinner  such  as  no  fashionable  cafe  can  furnish.  So  long  as 
we  retain  this  youthful  zest, 

"  What  have  years  to  bring, 
But  larger  floods  of  love  and  light. 
And  sweeter  songs  to  sing?  " 


294  VERMONT    BEAUTIFUL 

One  picnic  day  was  passed  quite  differently.  In  North  Danville  stood 
an  ancient  cottage,  shown  opposite.  Here  with  a  coterie  of  friends  we 
roamed  about,  admiring  the  quaintness  of  the  house.  The  tame  calves 
came  to  be  fondled  and  fed.  Dreamy  air  surrounded  us.  Rest  seemed 
the  normal  occupation  of  man.  The  cottage  was  Vermont  personified. 
It  was  simple,  honest,  kindly,  cozy,  and  independent.  As  the  past  flowed 
into  the  present,  sentiment  claimed  us,  and  this  little  poem  grew: 

Cottage  and  elm  began  their  day  together; 

The  one  is  breaking  in  the  century* s  blast; 
Looming  triumphant  over  wind  and  weather ^ 

The  other  shields  its  comrade  to  the  last. 

Five  generations  in  their  home-nest  here^ 

Beneath  the  tree^  have  waxed  to  manhood*s  might; 

Where  still  the  boughs  caress  the  ruin  sere^ 

The  sun  with  lingering  kiss  still  bids  good-night. 

Grant  us  the  gracious  gift  of  lengthening  daySy 
More  winning  and  more  mellow  year  by  year; 

Give  us  the  home-hearth  with  its  cheering  bla'zey 
And  crown  us  with  such  comradeship  as  here! 

Seven  years  after  that  delightful  day  the  old  house  had  burned  and  the 
great  elm  had  fallen  in  a  storm.  Musing  on  the  twin  disasters,  we  added 
these  lines  as  a  sequel: 

The  flame  has  claimed  the  relics  of  my  rhyme; 

The  earth  has  called  the  elm  back  to  her  breast; 
I  -ponder  in  the  ruins,  fast  my  prime, 

Upon  the  mysteries  of  change  and  rest. 

But  other  suns  will  raise  up  elms  more  fair, 

Beneath  which  better  homes  will  rise; 
And  stronger  hearts  will  weave  the  life-thread  there. 

And  better  minds  will  worthier  rhymes  devise. 

Indeed,  humanity  seems  to  divide  into  those  who  mourn  the  past  and 
those  who  shape  the  future  —  a  worthier  and  a  more  healthful  task. 


INDEX 


Adam,  the  brothers,  238. 

Adirondacks,  the,  26,  225,  290. 

Allen,  Ethan,  77. 

America,  9,  78,  93,  98,  106,  113,  214. 

Appalachians,  the,  242. 

Arlington,  82. 

Ascutney,  121. 

As  in  a  window,  197. 

Barnet,  38. 

Barre,  86,  113. 

Bates,  Stoddard  B.,  7. 

Battenkill,  14,  82. 

Battenkill,  the  Valley  of  the,  182,  190. 

Beauty  of  a  Cornfield,  the,  105. 

Bellows  Falls,  9,  14,  85,  86,  no. 

Bennington,  8,  62,  114,  182,  258. 

Bennington,  Battle  of,  258. 

Bennington-on-the-Hill,  81. 

Black  Snake,  the,  226. 

Bolton,  89. 

Bomoseen,  26,  82. 

Boston,  Mass.,  258. 

Boston  Common,  53. 

Bradford,  14,  38. 

Brandon,  26,  65,  82. 

Brattleboro,  8,  14,  22,  81,  82. 

Bridgewater,   18. 

Browning,  Robert,  201. 

Buckland,  21. 

Burlington,  9,  26,  30,  85,  290. 

Camel's  Hump,  13,  118,  161. 

Canada,  8,  9,  14,  26,  226,  273,  274. 

Canterbury,  197. 

Cape  Ann  Turkey,  the,  250. 

Chester,  89. 

City  and  Country,  90. 

Colchester,  130. 

Coleraine,  21. 

Concord,  N.  H.,  289. 

Connecticut,  14,  38,  49,  78,  121. 

Connecticut  River,  the,  289. 

Constitution  House,  81. 

Continental  Congress,  the,  258. 

Cornish,  121. 

Country  Courtesy,  177. 

Country  Schoolhouse,  the,  162. 

Cuttingsville,  89. 

Dairying,  141. 

Danbury,  77. 

Danville,  29,  62,  130,  289. 


Deerfield  River,  the,  18,  130. 
Denver,  Colo.,  286. 
Dorset,  62,  82,  121. 
Dorset  Hollow,  185. 
Dorset  Mountain,  82. 
Dunmore,  82. 
Dutch  Settlers,  277. 

Eden,  7. 

Edmunds,  Senator,  33. 

Ely,  38. 

Embargo  Act,  the,  226. 

Emmons,  Miss  Mary,  257. 

Equinox,  82. 

Essex,  13,  85,  89. 

Evarts,  William  M.,  282. 

Fairbanks,  77. 

Fairlee,  14,  38,  121. 

Farms  and  Farmers  of  Vermont,  37. 

Field  of  Potatoes,  the,  166. 

Floor  Coverings,  254. 

Florida,  98,  206,  281. 

Food  of  the  Fathers,  the,  246. 

Forest  Thoughts,  129. 

Forestvale,  65. 

For  God  and  Native  Land,  114. 

Future  of  the  Rural  East,  the,  114. 

Future  of  Vermont,  the,  270. 

Garden  Arrangement,  217. 
Gazette,  the  Providence,  258. 
German  Settlers,  277. 
Good  Things  Prepared,  209. 
Granite  Mountains,  the,  1 13. 
Granville  Notch,  130. 
Gray's  "  Elegy,"  34. 
Greenfield,  8. 

Green  Mountains,  8,  14,  18,  26. 
Gulf,  18. 

Hampden,  34. 

"Hanging  of  the  Crane,"  the,  237. 

Hartford,  86. 

Hay  Field,  the,  170. 

Haymarket  Square,  Boston,  193. 

Hearth,  the,  233. 

Heartwellville,  18. 

Homer,  234. 

Home  Virtues,  253. 

Hoosic  River,  the,  18. 

Horse,  the  Morgan,  277. 

How  Dairying  Beautifies  the  Countryside,  141. 


297 


298 


INDEX 


Hudson,  14. 
Huntington,  89. 
Hyde  Park,  7. 

Ide,  Judge,  33. 
Independence,  265. 
Indians,  38,  70,  241,  242. 
Interesting  Towns,  77. 
Irish,  the,  274. 

Jacksonville,  21. 
Joe's  Pond,  29. 
Jordan,  the,  206. 
Journeys,  Colonial,  257. 

Killington,  no. 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  82. 

Lake  Champlain,  7,  18,  26,  85,  225,  226,  230,  290. 

Lake  Dunmore,  26. 

Lake  Mohonk,  50. 

Lake  of  Galilee,  the,  246. 

Lakes  of  Vermont,  25. 

Lamoille,  14. 

Lane,  the,  157. 

Lanier,  13,  102. 

Lincoln,  Robert,  Il8. 

Londonderry,  22. 

Love  of  Fountains,  the,  206. 

Ludlow,  89. 

Mad  River,  10,  13. 

Manchester,  82,  no,  118,  121,  182, 

Maple  Orchard,  the,  125. 

Marble  Hills,  the,  no. 

Memphremagog,  26. 

Middlebury,  85. 

Middlesex,  10,  13,  86,  89,  Il8. 

Missisquoi,  18. 

Mohawk  Trail,  21. 

Montpelier,  9,  13,  62,  68  I18,  205. 

More  Beautiful  Vermont,  a,  49. 

Morrisville,  221. 

Mountain  Trails,  the,  109. 

Mt.  Adams,  222. 

Mt.  Jeiferson,  222. 

Mt.  Madison,  222. 

Mt.  Mansfield,  50,  89,  118,  221,  225,  226,  229. 

Mt.  Pisgah,  25. 

Mt.  Washington,  222. 

New  England,  7,  9,  13,  22,  25,  45,  66,  70,  73,  74, 

153- 
Newport,  7,  9,  26,  130. 
North  Adams,  18. 
North  Danville,  294. 
Northfield,  85. 
North  River,  21. 


Occupations  of  the  Fireside,  241. 
Old  Cellar  Hole,  the,  158. 
Old  New  England  Homes,  230. 
"Old  Star,"  237. 
Orient,  the,  206. 
Otter  Creek,  14,  18,  82. 

Paddock  Mansion,  77. 

Paris,  France,  273. 

Passumpsic,  14. 

Pennsylvania,  277. 

Peru,  22,  182. 

Pictures  in  Detail,  the,  182. 

Pictures  of  Flowers,  210. 

Piermont,  38. 

Pike's  Peak,  25. 

Pilgrim  Fathers,  the,  262. 

Presidential  Range,  the,  222. 

Proctor,  no. 

Providence,  R.  I.,  258. 

Quaint  and  Beautiful  Things  in  Vermont,  118. 
Queechee  River,  the,  18,  78. 
Quilts,  Patchwork,  245. 

Raising,  a,  266. 

Rayponda,  21. 

Readsboro,  18. 

Red  Letter  Days  in  Vermont,  289. 

Revolutionary  War,  the,  261,  265. 

Rivers  and  Brooks,  the,  9. 

Roads  of  Vermont,  the,  7. 

"Robin  Hood's  Barn,"  185. 

Rock  Creek  Park,  26. 

Rockingham  Center,  85. 

Royalton,  118. 

Rutland,  9,  18,  30,  70,  82,  85,  no. 

Sagas  of  the  Firelight,  233. 

St.  Albans,  85,  n8. 

St.  Johnsbury,  7,  9,  77,  78,  81,  221,  289. 

Salton  Sea  in  California,  the,  290. 

Saxton's  River,  86. 

Scotch,  22,  26,  33. 

Shelburne,  n8. 

Shelburne  Falls,  21. 

Sherbrook,  8. 

Sherburne,  118. 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  234. 

Smith,  Governor,  n8. 

Smuggler's  Notch,  226,  229,  230. 

"Snow  Bound,"  241. 

Some  Country  Beauties,  129. 

South  Woodstock,  81,  245. 

Sparking,  269. 

Stamford,  18,  22. 

Stowe,  89,  221,  222. 

Suggested   Protection  as  a  Quality  in  Pictures, 

205. 
Summit  House,  Mt.  Mansfield,  the,  225. 


INDEX  OF   PICTURES 


299 


Sunday  in  the  Country,  178. 
Sun  Dials,  269. 
Swanton,  9,  85. 
Swift  River,  65,  89. 

Taste  for  the  Beautiful,  a,  142. 
Taylor,  Mrs.,  77. 
Thetford,  38,  58,  121,  130. 
Time  of  Day,  the,  266. 
Trees  of  Vermont,  the,  61. 
Troy,  8. 
Tunbridge,  62,  130. 

Vail,  Thomas  N.,  117. 

Vergennes,  18,  118,  290. 

Vermont,  roads  of,  7;  the  lakes  of,  25;  villages  of, 
29;  farms  and  farmers  of,  37;  a  more  beau- 
tiful, 49;  cottage  sites,  57;  the  trees  of,  61; 
quaint  and  beautiful  things  in,  118;  in  winter, 
122;  wild  flowers  of,  134;  damsels  and  dames, 
173;  the  future  of,  270;   red  letter  days  in,  289. 

Vermont  Cottage  Sites,  57. 

Vermont  Damsels  and  Dames,  173. 

Vermont  in  Winter,  122. 

Vermonter  Outside  Vermont,  the,  285. 

Versatility  of  the  Settler,  the,  242. 

Villages  of  Vermont,  29. 

Visit  to  Mt.  Mansfield,  a,  221. 


Waiting  for  the  "Auto"  to  Pass,  126. 

Wallingford,  130. 

War  of  1812,  226. 

Warwick,  R.  I.,  238. 

Waterbury,  9,  86,  89. 

Webb,  118. 

Wells  River,  9. 

Westminster,  38. 

West  River,  14,  22. 

White  Mountains,  the,  25,  78,  109. 

White  River,  9,  13,  65,  118. 

White  River  Junction,  85. 

Whitingham,  21. 

Whittier,  J.  G.,  241. 

Wild  Flowers  of  Vermont,  134. 

Wilder,  Arthur  B.,  69. 

Williamstown,  8. 

Willoughby,  25,  26,  78,  130. 

Wilmington,  13. 

Wiltons,  Domestic,  257. 

Windsor,  81,  121,  282. 

Winooski,  the,  10,  13,  62,  85,  86,  89,  205,  229. 

Winthrop,  Governor,  262. 

Woodstock,  9,  18,  69,  70,  78,  81,  121. 

Young,  "Uncle  Sam,"  77. 


INDEX  OF  PICTURES 


Page  ii.    Top.    The  Swimming  Pool,  No.  220. 
Bottom  left.     Connecticut  Shores,  No. 

5383- 
Bottom  right.  Out  of  the  Hills,  No.  4971. 
"     12.    Top.     An   Auspicious    Entrance,   No. 
8666. 
Bottom  left.  Waiting  for  Jacob,  No.  444. 
Bottom   right.     For    God    and    Native 
Land,  No.  315. 
"     15.    Top.     The  Battenkill,  No.  198. 

Bottom.    June  on  the  Hilltop,  No.  8667. 
"     16.   Top.     Dorset    Lake    and    Mountain, 
No.  8031. 
Bottom.    On  the  Battenkill,  No.  210. 
"     19.    Top.     The  Beckoning  Road,  No.  8660. 
Center.     Over  the  Valley,  No.  343. 
Bottom.     Bennington  Road,  No.  319. 
"     20.    Top.     Equinox  Mount  :in.  No.  2621. 
Center.   Housetop  and  Hilltop,  No.  696. 
Bottom.     Queecliee  Valley,  No.  371 1. 
"    23.    Top.     A  Mossy  Stair,  No.  207. 

Bottom.     The  Green  Mountain  Range, 
No.  3561. 
"     24.    Top  left.     Water  Tracery,  No.  8648. 

Top  right.     An  Orchard  in  the  Hills, 
No.  148. 


Page 


24.   Bottom.     Home,  Sweet  Home,  No.  445. 

27.  Top.     A  Favorite  Corner,  No.  8005. 
Bottom.     A  Willow  Pastoral,  No.  732. 

28.  Top  left.     Fair  Woodstock,  No.  5296. 
Top  right.    Woodstock  Arches,  No.  151. 
Bottom.     An    Orchard    Haying,    No. 

8067. 

31.  Top.   Entering  the  Old  Bridge,  No.  663. 
Bottom.     Upper  Queechee,  No.  5287. 

32.  A  Vermont  Road,  No.  199. 

35.  Top.     Farm  Knoll,  No.  6840. 
Bottom  left.     Resting  at  the  Old  Stoop, 

No.  416. 
Bottom   right.     An   Eventful   Journey, 
No.  loi. 

36.  Top.     A  Bethel  Valley,  No.  3695. 
Bottom    left.     The    Oxbow,    October, 

No.  5415. 
Bottom    right.     Ribbon    Road,    Bran- 
don, No.  6677. 

39.  As  in  a  Window,  No.  5309. 

40.  Top.   White  River,  Royalton,  No.  5306. 
Bottom    left.     A    Brandon    Roadside, 

No.  3501. 
Bottom  right.     Brandon  Pastures,  No. 
3503- 


300 

Page  43. 
"     44- 

"     47- 


INDEX  OF   PICTURES 


SI- 


52- 


Top.     Vermont  Curves,  No.  6800. 
Bottom.     Riverbank  Farm,  No.  4950. 
Top.     The  Welcome  of  the  Hills,  No. 

8673. 
Bottom.     A  Vermont  Farmstead,  No. 

4944. 
Top.     The  Cottage  by  the  Brook,  No. 

5332. 
Bottom  left.    The  Fountain,  No.  5283. 
Bottom  right.     The  Heart  of  the  Hills, 

No.  5320. 
Top.     Into  the  Mountains,  No.  5497. 
Center.     A  Bend  in  the  Hills,  No.  5472. 
Bottom.     A  Pasture  Stream,  No.  288. 
Top.     The  Bridesmaids  of  the  Wood, 

No.  61. 

Upper  Winooski,  No.  3697. 
Cross-Roads'  Shadows,  No. 


« 

s(>- 

59- 
60. 

63. 
64. 

67. 
68. 

71- 

72. 

7S- 
76. 


"     79- 
"     80. 


"     83. 
"     84. 


October  Mountains,  No. 


Bottom. 
Top  left. 

3515- 
Top   right. 

5478. 
Bottom.  An  Overflowing  Cup,  No.  5392. 
Top.     An  Autumn  Canopy,  No.  5352. 
Bottom.     A  Summer  Stream,  No.  15. 
Top.     A  Trout  Bank,  No.  3430. 
Bottom.     A  River  Archway,  No.  5356. 
Clustered  Elms,  No.  5425. 
Top.     Spring  at  the  Lake,  No.  3461. 
Bottom.     Mountain  Birches,  No.  8916. 
A  River  of  Dreams,  No.  5382. 
Top.     Vermont  in  Autumn,  No.  5371. 
Bottom.     Above  the  Bridge,  No.  5434. 
A  Valley  in  Stowe,  No.  5397. 
Top  left.     Mount  Mansfield,  No.  5498. 
Top  right.     June  Shadows,  No.  8913. 
Bottom.     The  Narrows  in  Autumn,  No. 

5443- 
Top.     The  Long  Look,  No.  2570. 
Bottom.     Bordering    the    Passumpsic, 

No.  366. 
Top.     At  the  Fender,  No.  136. 
Bottom.    Going  for  the  Doctor,  No.  279. 
Top.     Derby  Pond,  No.  6722. 
Bottom.     Mount  Mansfield,  No.  3713. 
Top  left.    A  Champlain  Barrier,  No. 

3651- 
Top  right.     Red  Rock  Park,  No.  182. 
Bottom.     A  Hill  Stream    Bridge,    No. 

5346. 
Westmore  Drive,  No.  365. 
Top.     Between  the  Cliffs,  No.   5314. 
Center.    Across  the  Meadows,  Evening, 

No.  529. 
Bottom.     River  Curves,  No.  397. 
Autumn  Waters,  No.  5290. 
Top.     Willoughby  Lake,  No.  6729. 
Bottom.     A    Village    in    Blossomtime, 

No.  6696. 


Page  87. 


91. 


92. 


95- 


96. 


99- 


103. 

104. 
"  107. 
"   108. 


112. 

"S- 
116. 


119 
120 


123 
124 
127 


Top.    Stamford  Hills,  No.  8293. 
Bottom.    Twins,  No.  4967. 
Top.    A  Mountain  River,  No.  6783. 
Bottom.     Brandon  Arches,  No.  6799. 
Top.      Blossoms  on  Lake    Bomoseen, 

No.  4923. 
Bottom.    Roofed  in  Blossoms,  No.  4918. 
Top.     Mill  Pond  Cottage,  No.  9256. 
Bottom.     Out  from  the  Cottage  Door, 

No.  6841. 
Top  left.     A  Purling  Stream,  No.  4966. 
Top  right.     Memphremagog  through 

Birches,  No.  6684. 
Bottom.     Apple  and  Lilac,  No.  4979. 
Top.     Luxuriant  Spring,  No.  6767. 
Bottom.      Birches   at   Bomoseen,  No. 

6690. 
Top.     Lake  Champlain  By-Road,  No. 

6794. 
Bottom.    A  River  of  the  Hills,  No.  8299. 
Top.    The  Stamford  Stream,  No.  8300. 
Bottom.     Summit  of  the  Green  Moun- 
tains, No.  4943. 
Top.     Clouds    over    Memphremagog, 

No.  6699. 
Bottom.     Divided  Road,  No.  5429. 
Top.     Side  by  Side,  No.  8301. 
Bottom.     Streamside  Road,  No.  4968. 
Top.     On  the  Passumpsic,  No.  1838. 
Bottom.     A  Forest  Stream,  No.  83 11. 
Top.     Birches  on  Lake  Dunmore,  No. 

6703. 
Bottom.     The  Connecticut  from  Guil- 
ford, No.  4934. 
Top.     An  Elm  and  Ferns,  No.  4936. 
Bottom.     Bomoseen  through  Blossoms, 

No.  4926. 
Top.     Tekoa,  No.  1008. 
Bottom.     In  the  Glen,  No.  5289. 
Dandelion  Fluffs  and   Buttercup,  No. 

1273. 
Top  left.  Over  the  Iron  Road,  No.  6757. 
Top    right.     Bluff   Birches,    Newport, 

No.  6687. 
Bottom  left.     Uncle  Sam  Taking  Leave, 

No.  294. 
Bottom  right.     A  Stately  Border,  No. 

6766. 

Top.  Lake  Memphremagog,  No.  4922. 
Bottom.  Pleasant  Waters,  No.  4937. 
Top  left.     The  River  in  Spring,  No. 

8305. 
Top  right.     Passumpsic   Reflections, 

No.  6719. 
Bottom.     A  Hill  Home,  No.  4978. 
The  Song  of  the  Brook,  No.  6798. 
,    June  Joy,  No.  6796. 
.    Top.     A  Wallingford  Pass,  No.  4970. 


INDEX  OF   PICTURES 


301 


Page  127. 
"     128. 

"     131. 
"     132. 


I3S- 

136. 
139- 

140. 


143- 
144. 

147. 
148. 

151- 
152. 

ass- 
ise. 

159. 


160. 
163. 


Bottom  left.     Two  Up,  No.  4949. 

Bottom  right.  Between  Elms,  No.  4954. 

Top.    Old  FlufFdufF,  No.  6777. 

Bottom.  Towards  the  Mountains, 
No.  6790. 

Top.     Elms  and  Eddies,  No.  6802. 

Bottom  left.   Chester  Birches,  No.  6834. 

Bottom  right.  Catamount  Monu- 
ment, No.  1497. 

Top  left.     A  Stone  Bar-Post,  No.  220. 

Top  right.  Woodland  Enchantment, 
No.  SS9. 

Center  left.  Across  Dunmore,  No.  3519. 

Center  right.  A  Shelburne  Orchard, 
No.  6680. 

Bottom  left.  Along  Lake  Willoughby, 
No.  6728. 

Bottom  right.  A  Shelburne  Home- 
stead, No.  6714. 

Top.     Village  Spires,  No.  6808. 

Bottom.     Marlboro  Wood,  No.  8315. 

Swift  Water  at  Chester,  No.  3713. 

Top.     Paradise  Valley,  No.  791. 

Bottom.  Old  Red  Schoolhouse.No.  162. 

Top  left.     A  Birch  Paradise,  No.  322. 

Top  right.  The  Capture  of  a  Red- 
coat, No.  2902. 

Bottom  left.  At  the  Side  Door,  No.  175. 

Bottom  right.    A  Day  in  June,  No.  375. 

Top.  Resting  in  the  Stream,  No.  916. 

Bottom.  Fording  the  Upper  Con- 
necticut, No.  3027. 

Top.  Between  the  Mountains,  No. 
5482. 

Bottom.     Blue  and  Gold,  No.  5491. 

The  Little  Mountain,  No.  5462. 

Top.     A  Placid  Stretch,  No.  5345. 

Bottom.     Autumn  Ripples,  No.  5442. 

Top.     Autumn  Gold,  No.  5428. 

Bottom.     Into  the  Hills,  No.  5412. 

Top.     A  Pasture  Back,  No.  5399. 

Bottom.     Upland  Wild,  No.  5398. 

Fairway,  No.  8656. 

Top.     An  October  Nook,  No.  5282. 

Bottom.     Down  the  Lake,  No.  176. 

Top  left.  Gorge  of  the  Winooski, 
No.  5361. 

Top  right.  Birches,  Willoughby 
Road,  No.  3145. 

Bottom  left.  Mountain  Stream,  No. 
5436. 

Bottom  right.    A  Golden  Forest,  No. 

5344- . 
W  inter  in  the  Lane,  No.  7607. 
Top  left.    A  Sheltered  Road,  No.  3 147. 
Top  right.   Thetford  Curves,  No.  8337. 
Bottom  left.     Plymouth  Curves,  No. 

377S- 


Page   163.  Bottom  right.     Queechee    Gulf,    No. 

833S- 
"     164.   A  Woodland  Cathedral,  No.  14. 
"     167.    Top  left.    A  Gothic  Stream,  No.  8644. 
Top  right.   Where  Trout  Lie,  No.  8645. 
Bottom.     June  Allurements,  No.  8551. 
"     168.    Top.     Riffle  in  the  Stream,  No.  3717. 
Bottom.     Autumn  Grasses,  No.  5469. 
"     171.    Top.     Lyndon  Vale,  No.  6887. 

Bottom.     Springfield    Blossoms,     No. 
3105. 
"     172.    Top.     The    Isthmus,    Hero    Island, 
No.  6686. 
Bottom.     Welberton  Slopes,  No.  3568. 
"     175.    Top.     Wading  River,  No.  5368. 

Bottom.     Feathered  Elms,  No.  8325. 
"     176.   Late  River  Lights,  No.  6838. 
"     179.    Top.     Lilac  Cottage,  No.  8661. 

Center.    Soft  Evening  Lights,  No.  153. 
Bottom.     Among  the  Rocks,  No.  98. 
"     180.    Top.     Farm  Borders,  Marlboro,  No. 
8643. 
Bottom     left.     Streamside,     Rawson- 

ville.  No.  8322. 
Bottom  right.     Indian   Summer,  No. 

S3SS- 
"     183.   Young  Elms,  No.  6837. 
"     184,    Top.     A  Hill  Home,  No.  4964. 

Bottom.     Hidden  in  Foliage,  No.  6758. 
"     187.   An  Untamed  Solitude,  No.  8312. 
"     188.    Top  left.     Birch  Brae,  No.  4965. 

Top  right.    Among  the  Ferns,  No.  351. 

Bottom.     Forest  Born,  No.  8323. 
"     191.    Top.     Hiding  River,  No.  8318. 

Bottom    left.     Brattleboro     Wayside, 
No.  8329. 

Bottom     right.     Connecticut      Calm, 
Thetford,  No.  8342. 
"     192.    Top.     Queechee  Pastures,  No.  8336. 

Bottom  left.      Down  the   Bank,  No. 

8345-  . 
Bottom  right.    River  Sketch,  No.  8317. 

195.  Top.     Ascutney  Meadows,  No.  8328. 
Bottom.     Queechee  Hills,  No.  8339. 

196.  Top.     Ferryside,  No.  8347. 
Bottom.     A  Hill  Garden.  No.  8764. 

199.  A  Fairlee  Shore,  No.  8765. 

200.  Top.     Shaken  Lights,  No.  8349. 
Bottom.     A  Thetford  Wood,  No.  833 1. 

203.  Top.     At  the  Bridge,  No.  8012. 
Bottom.     A  Pasture  Bank,  No.  5399. 

204.  Top  left.    Tarry-Not  River,  No.  8306. 
Top    right.     Tumbling    Waters,    No. 

8304. 
Bottom.     Vermont    in    October,    No. 
6803.  _ 

207.  Winooski  Gorge. 

208.  Top.    Oxen,  No.  1857. 


302 


INDEX  OF   PICTURES 


Page  208. 
"  211. 
"     212. 

"      215- 


"     216. 


219. 

220. 
223. 


224. 


"     227. 
"     228. 


231. 
232. 


23S- 
"     236. 


239- 
240. 


243 
244. 

247. 


"     248, 


251 


Bottom.     A  Brook  in  Doubt,  No.  253.       Page  252. 

Brook  Boulders,  No.  8316 

Top.    The  Hartland  Road,  No.  8340. 

Bottom.     The  Misry  Hills,  No.  8297. 

Top.     A  River  of  Delight,  No.  8763.  "     255. 

Bottom  left.     A   Champlain   Pasture,  "     256. 

No.  3589. 
Bottom  right.     Birch  Mountains,  No. 

380. 
Top.     The  River's  Song,  No.  5295. 
Bottom.     Green     Mountain     Slopes,  "     259. 

No.  5334.  "     260 

Lichen  in  the  Glen,  No.  200.  "     263. 

Better  than  Mowing,  No.  1157.  "     264. 

Top.     Following  the  River,  No.  8302.  "     267. 

Bottom.     Through    Richmond    Hills, 

No.  5437.  "     268. 

Top.     Colchester  Road,  No.  1336.  "     271. 

Bottom.     A  Hill  Road  in  New  Eng- 
land, No.  68. 
Top.     Dorset  Village,  No.  1 163. 
Center.     June  Twilight,  No.  8663.  "     272. 

Bottom.  Meandering  Brook,  No.  1198. 
Top.     W  illoughby    from    the   South, 

No.  1369.  "     275. 

Bottom.    Friendly  Reception,  No.  142. 
Vermont  Birches,  No.  1383. 
Top  left.    Bridgewater  Brook,  No.  858. 
Top  right.     Wilmington  Waters,  No.  "     276. 

8641. 
Bottom.     Pasture  Banks,  No.  2265. 
Top.     The  Sinuous  Stream,  No.  5423. 
Bottom.  OldMarbleQuarry,  No.  8030. 
Waiting   for  the  Auto  to  Pass,  No.  "     279. 

1349- 
Shadowed  by  Birches,  No.  1333. 
Top  left.    The  Billings  Entrance,  No. 

1191. 
Top  right.     Elms,  No.  1298.  "     280. 

Bottom.     June     5     on     a    Mountain 

Farm,  No.  657. 
Top.     Haying  with  Oxen,  No.  1 167.  "     283. 

Bottom.     Surprise,  No.  13 19. 
Top.     Evening   in  the   Stream,  No. 

1211. 
Bottom.     Carding,  No.  8101.  "     284. 

Top  left.  The  Pasture  Glade,  No.  5299.  "     287. 

Top  right.     Miss  T.  of  Bennington, 

No.  1294.  "     288. 

Bottom.     Mountain  Stream,  No.  4955. 
Top.     Winooski  Haze,  No.  5475.  "     291. 

Bottom.     Fairhaven     Blossoms,    No. 

3289.  "     292. 

Top  left.     Pasture  Banks,  No.  5404. 
Top  right.     Connecticut  Arches,  No. 

5459-  "     295. 

Bottom.    An  Eye  on  the  Barn,  No. 

8029. 


Top  left.     Old  River  Road. 

Top  right.     Bordered   by   Birch,  No. 

1261. 
Bottom.  A  Winooski  Mirror,  No.  3581. 
Champlain's  Jutting  Crag,  No.  3639. 
Top    left.     A    Champlain    Headland, 

No.  3643. 
Top    right.     Washington     Mourning 

Paper,  No.  318. 
Bottom.    Starting  for  Town,  No.  1 169. 
The  White  Ladies,  No.  1215. 
Feminine  Curiosity,  No.  8009. 
Birch  Patriarch,  No.  8093. 
A  Green  Mountain  Gorge,  No.  8099. 
Top.     October  on  the  River,  No.  16. 
Bottom.   Lake  Bank  Birches,  No.  1445. 
A  Forest  Drive,  No.  102. 
Top.     Country  Silence,  No.  5336. 
Bottom  left.     Brattleboro  Broads,  No. 

8320. 
Bottom  right.     Up  River,  No.  5431. 
Top  left.    Going  to  Market,  No.  1380. 
Top  right.     Glen  Edyth,  No.  498. 
Bottom.     Meadow  Quiet,  No.  8321. 
Top.     A  Vermont   Sugar  Loaf,  No. 

4946. 
Bottom.     Up    the    Connecticut,    No. 

8348. 
Top  left.    The  Upper  Deerfield,  No. 

8308. 
Top  right.  Narrowed  Banks,  No.  8330. 
Bottom.     An  Obstructed  Brook,  No. 

8314. 
Top    left.     Flickering   Shadows,   No. 

4981. 
Top  right.     Memphremagog  Birches, 

No.  6731. 
Bottom.   Bankside  Blossoms,  No.  6697. 
Top.     Blossoming  Brook,  No.  4969. 
Bottom.     The  Farmer  takes  a  Drink, 

No.  92. 
Top  left.     Corn. 
Top  right.     The  River  Window,  No. 

8760. 
Bottom.     Ripple  Bank,  No.  6764. 
Pebbles  and  Grasses,  No.  5465. 
Top.     Under  the  Crest,  No.  5339. 
Bottom.     A  River  Farm,  No.  5458. 
Top.     Above  the  Lake,  No.  5468. 
Bottom.     An  Old  Moraine,  No.  5432. 
Top.     A  Rain  of  Gold,  No.  5365. 
Bottom.  Under  a  Great  Birch,No.5302. 
Top.     Untouched,  No.  5492. 
Bottom.     Willoughby     Birches,    No. 

3245- 
Top.      An    Old-Fashioned    Paradise, 

No.  1843. 
Bottom.     His  Move,  No.  236. 


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